


Glitter and Gold

by BitterlySpiteful



Series: Above [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Death, Fantasy, Found Family, Magic, Mild Gore, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 39
Words: 163,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterlySpiteful/pseuds/BitterlySpiteful
Summary: Seto has to deal with the repercussions that come with having an angel crashland in his backyard.





	1. family matters

Seto is  _dwarfed_ by the hospital bed. He's practically swimming in the god damn sheets. They're heavy on top of him, and a strange grey instead of the sterile white covers he'd expect from a hospital on the Ground.

Then again, he's not  _on_ the Ground.

The other human in the hospital, Jin, comes by every other hour to check on him. Seto tries repeatedly to talk to him, but he only gets so far as, "My name is, uh, Seto, and you?" before Jin gives him a wide-eyed, terrified look, and scurries out of the room.

So... He mostly just sits and listens to the rhythmic sound of the heart monitor. It isn't even the same high-pitched beep, which puts him on edge. Instead, it's more of a clacking noise, like plastic against wood. He supposes the angels can hear it fine, because Martin had complained multiple times about the noises from the TV. Heightened senses must be neat to have, Seto thinks as he makes little mountains in the sheets. Then he moves too much and pain flairs up through his whole body, despite the hard painkillers the doctor angel has him strung on.

_"Give him the damn morphine, Baki!"_

_"It's a waste of money, Martin, he doesn't need it." A hand checks the IV in his arm, pressing the tape down over it._

_"I will **pay** for the extra it costs, Baki, don't be fucking stupid. He just got shot, for fuck's sake."_

He opens his eyes to find that the sun is beaming in through the window to his left. Seto doesn't remember falling asleep.

With a sigh, he looks over to find Baki standing at the counter, rummaging through a cabinet above the sink. "About time you're awake," he mutters, mostly to himself, partway to Seto. "Martin is on my  _ass_ about getting to see you."

Seto flinches when Baki turns towards him quickly. He doesn't look as the angel adds something to the IV drip above his head. "Well, he's going to have to wait. It's been-" Baki pulls his sleeve back and taps his watch. "-only a week since you got here."

"A week?" Seto croaks, and Baki falls completely still. His eyes, once a soft pink, almost comforting, go hard and cold, sharp like broken glass. Seto shivers and averts his gaze, shrinking down into the bed.

A moment passes. He can still feel Baki's stare. 

Then, the angel mutters to himself, "Jesus, Martin got himself in some deep shit, didn't he?"

With that, Baki turns and leaves the room, flicking the light off as he goes.

[...]

Martin stays with him most of the time after that. Despite being in and out, Seto has a few clear memories of looking over to find Martin sitting in a chair by the bed, wings placidly held to his sides, with a newspaper unfolded across his lap. 

When it's noticed that he's awake, Martin sighs and takes a drink of coffee, and says, "Well, you're alive."

A moment passes. Seto's throat is incredibly dry; he wonders if humans have to drink more than angels or not, and he wonders if he's going to die of thirst instead of a bullet. Then Martin puts the paper down for a second and reaches to the table he'd set his mug. He gives Seto a bottle and says, "I got to see you at first, but Baki chased me out after that."

Seto squints at him for a moment, then blurts out, "Where're your horns?"

Martin looks like he's about to throw the water bottle at him. Instead, he puts it on the sheets, where it rolls into Seto's leg. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He hesitates, then picks up the bottle with shaky hands. Seto nearly drops it at first but manages to drink some. Martin takes it from him when he holds it back out and slumps against the pillows. 

Martin flips the page in the newspaper and stays silent. Seto glances over at him, noting how his eyes are much brighter than they had been. He looks healthier, too, and for a moment Seto wonders just how bad Martin had gotten. So he says, "Do you glow now?"

"Yes."

The heart monitor clacks. Seto fiddles with the IV and Martin wordlessly reaches out to swat his hand away. "Enjoy it, kid, you're being released tomorrow."

He brings a hand up to his stomach and feels sick. It already hurts, he can't imagine having to leave and move around. Seto lets his head fall back to the pillows and he shuts his eyes. "Fuck."

The shuffling of the newspaper stops for a short moment. Then, Martin says, "Just wait for us to get home, trust me."

"Yeah, as if the change of scenery will help at all with a bullet hole," Seto gripes, but by now he's starting to drift off, too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

[...]

He wakes up when the door slams open and metal rattles right next to his head. Jerking into awareness, Seto tries to duck down, only to gurgle at the pain and hold his stomach. He looks up to find Martin's wings mantled, the hidden featherblades sliding out, sharp and wicked. Martin's hand is at his side, already gripping the hilt of a knife. Seto blinks unintelligently, then looks over to the door.

Only to find- A nearly identical angel to Martin. He's slimmer, taller, and his eyes are glowing a bloody crimson, but he's got the same brown skin, with his curly hair tied back loosely. His wings are larger, with bladed edges, but they aren't as mantled. He stands in the doorway for a long second, then Martin steps around the bed and the angel lifts his wings higher.

Seto shrinks back into the pillows, trying to flatten himself as much as possible. He really doesn't feel like being caught between the two; whatever fight that happens would be deadly. 

Then Martin draws the dagger and leaps and pins the angel to the wall. The wall cracks as feathers sink into it, and their wings scrape against each other. Martin holds the knife to the man's throat, and growls, "Don't you  _ever_ fucking- do that to me again."

And like that, Martin backs off, flipping the knife around and holding it by the blade, the handle out towards his brother. "Nitram."

Nitram's eyes flick down to the knife, back up to Martin, then back down. He takes it, slides it into the empty sheath at his hip, and then says, "You look bad. Did you even eat?"

Martin snorts and turns away, his back to Nitram. Seto's eyebrows rise, surprised that he'd do that. He worries at the sheets and shrinks back immediately when Nitram's gaze locks onto him. 

"You got a new one," Nitram growls, "You did not learn-"

"Shut the fuck up, I'll explain at home. We're leaving today, anyway." Martin grabs his cup, one sitting among many at the bedside table, and drinks the rest of it. Seto blinks owlishly at Nitram. The angel stares back, raising an eyebrow, and it's the  _exact_ expression Martin always makes.

"A strange one," Nitram says, one side of his lips pulling back. He stares at Seto for a moment, then says, "You are going to have to try to blend in better, human."

While Seto has only met a few angels in his life, rarely have they actually addressed him. Martin was the only exception. So he stutters, "Um."

Nitram barks a laugh, then rattles his wings and Martin looks back up to him. The brothers share a look, and then Nitram mutters something in some language Seto doesn't know. He nods once at Seto, then turns and leaves. 

The door, having previously been slammed halfway off its hinges, hangs open. Seto glances at the wall, at the many puncture holes in it, and shivers. Martin notices him looking and grumbles, "Great, now Baki's going to want me to pay for that. Fuck." He kicks at his chair, then sighs and says, "I'll be right back, Seto, don't- Don't go anywhere."

"Not like I can." He watches Martin go, and then slumps back into the bed with a groan.


	2. walking with a ghost

He's bored.

And going through a mild anxiety attack.

Seto itches for his phone. Martin walked out an hour ago, and now he's sitting all alone in the hospital room. Which terrifies him, really, because that means that if some other angel came in, they could- Who knows what one would do.

So he bunches up the sheets, wiggles his toes, winces at the hot pain, and tries not to think about the fact that he's no longer safe. No longer home, no longer on the Ground, no longer safe.

The room he's in is fairly barren. It has two chairs total; the one Martin had been using, and another shoved into the corner. Other than the machines he's already hooked up to, there aren't any other electronics. He isn't sure where his phone is and the same goes for his actual clothes. Instead, he's in a plain light tan hospital gown, of which is scratchy and uncomfortable and about seven sizes too big.

("It's the smallest one Baki has," Martin had said when he'd asked if there was one in his size.) 

After counting the moles on his arms for the fifth time, Seto sighs and drops his head back to the pillows. The movement jostles  _everything_ , it feels like, and he grimaces. He isn't sure how they're going to get him out of here without him dying from the strain. He doubts he could just be wheelchaired all the way to wherever Martin lives.

There's a knock at the door and Seto looks up quickly. He expects Jin, or maybe Martin, because they're the only two likely to knock. But instead of either of them, Nitram stands there, glancing at the cracks in the wall and the door hanging off its hinges. 

A moment passes, and then Nitram's eyes meet Seto's. He quickly glances away and curls his fingers into the blankets.

There's a sigh, and then the angel comes around and sits down in Martin's chair. He leans his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands, and stays silent. Finally, Seto glances over at him, only to find that Nitram has been staring at him evenly, gaze unwavering.

Nitram says, after a second, "Martin has to- take care of something. I am here to bring you home."

Seto feels like laughing, and he also feels like crying, because he doesn't trust Nitram one bit, and they are very, very high up in the air. "Uh."

The angel raises an eyebrow at him, looks to the left, and then back at Seto. "Baki does not want to deal with this. With the- baggage, that comes with me and my brother. So that means you will do the rest of your healing at home."

"My home?"

"No." Nitram manages to show some form of sympathy, but it's gone in an instant. "Too many people saw my brother down on the Ground. If you return..."

"Yeah." Seto shivers and holds his stomach and looks away and thinks about Jordan. "Yeah, I know."

"If you want, human," Nitram starts, after a second, "I can ask Baki to knock you out so the trip will be easier. We don't own any sling, so I would have to carry you, if that is alright."

"If it's alright?" Seto looks everywhere but him, frowning. "Do I even have a choice?"

A long silence stretches. Then, "You do, in my opinion."

He hesitates and looks back at Nitram, meeting his stare. For a moment, neither of them say anything, then Nitram's lips twitch up, and he looks too much like Martin. After a second, he huffs a chuckle and says, "If you managed to trust my brother..."

The rest of it remains unsaid. Seto thinks he might like Nitram, if he weren't so anxious about everything happening.

So Seto nods and looks away and makes up his mind. "Whatever's easiest."

"I will get Baki." Nitram pushes up off the chair and leaves without another word.

[...]

And Seto wakes up to sunlight streaming in through curtains.

He blinks groggily, turning his head away from the light and clenching his eyes shut. There's a pleasant numbness in all of his limbs, and for a while he just lays there like that, feeling his own heart thudding in his chest.

Whatever he's laying on is soft; much better than the itchy hospital blankets. There's a heavy comforter over him, and his arms are settled on his stomach. The air smells heavily like pine and cinnamon, for some reason. He groans and peels open his eyes again, squinting against the sunlight cast over where he's laying.

The room he's met with is large, with wooden archways supporting the ceiling all throughout. At their thickest, the supports are bigger than he is. Seto's laying in a bay window that's bigger than his bed at home. Directly in front of him is the living room, with chairs set up around a central fireplace. The chimney travels up and disappears into the ceiling, which is a good twenty feet above his head. He supposes angels wouldn't like to feel claustrophobic in their own house.

Across the room is a dining area with a round table and four chairs, and then the kitchen behind that. There's are slanted, cluttered bookshelves disconnecting the kitchen and living room, so Seto can't see much past them. On the wall next to his head is a set of stairs leading upwards, and then a door underneath them. Across the room is a loft-like area, with a bridge connecting halfway up the stairs. There are two doors in the loft that he can just barely see, and then a few more down on the ground level across from him. 

Seto blinks sluggishly and tries to sit up, only to find it's not worth the trouble and he can't really move. 

A clatter catches his attention and he manages to crane his head to find Martin coming in through the front door, of which Seto can't see from his angle. Martin kicks his shoes off and rattles his wings, stretching for a moment before continuing towards the kitchen. Seto manages to work his mouth open, but then his tongue is too heavy to form syllables, so he doesn't speak.

The scent of coffee fills the air for a second and Seto has to wrinkle his nose at how strong it is. He shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again Martin is moving around in the kitchen, making some sort of meal. He takes the plate to the table and drops it down, then goes to pour an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee.

Then he sits down, somewhat facing away from Seto, and unfolds a newspaper. For a few minutes, Seto just watches him while he eats, unable to bring any attention to himself or even ask Martin what, exactly, has made him paralyzed like this.

Another moment passes, and then Martin suddenly turns around. He makes a surprised noise and drops the paper to the table. "You're awake?"

He squints at the angel and manages to make a groaning noise. Martin waves him off and says, "Don't worry, it'll wear off in a bit. Baki gave you too much of a dose. You were out all night; I'm surprised you're even awake right now. I didn't think humans could stand that much."

"Hhh," Seto gurgles intelligently and closes his eyes. He can somewhat move his fingers now, but they feel heavy, as if frostbitten. He looks over when he hears Martin's chair scrap against the wooden floor. The angel goes back to the kitchen and fills a glass of water to bring over to Seto. 

Martin holds it out and Seto glares at him because he can hardly lift his fingers, much less a glass. After a moment, Martin realizes his own stupidity and sighs. He leans over and sets it down on a table that Seto hadn't noticed before. 

After a moment, Martin says, "Once that wears off, Seto, I need to talk to you. I've already mentioned it to Nitram, but he isn't too keen on the idea. He told me to ask you, first, so. I'll do that." He glances away, shuffles, then sighs and says, "Tell me when the paralysis wears off. It's awkward to talk to you when you can't say shit."

Seto rolls his eyes and manages to nod. Martin makes his way back to the table and sits down again. Turning his head, Seto looks outside, staring at the leaves and branches towering into the sky. Slipping off into a daze, Seto doesn't even notice falling asleep.

He wakes up when there are crashes and the sounds of metal clattering against itself. Seto jerks awake and gasps in pain, hand reaching up to hold his wound. After a moment of blinking white shock from his eyes, he looks over to find the brothers fighting.

Nitram's wings are mantled, running edges curving around and crossed over each other, pinning Martin to the wall by his neck. Likewise, one of his wings is pressed beneath Nitram's arms, the blade glinting with fresh cyan blood. The two of them are hissing and spitting at each other in a rough, harsh language. Finally, Martin jerks his other wing up and ducks out from under Nitram. They pace in a circle, and then Nitram raises his hands in the air and shouts at Martin. Something that sounds suspiciously like a name crops up, and then Martin growls and shoves Nitram away. 

The two walk away from each other for a moment, Nitram going to lean against the counter and seethe and Martin moving to shuffle books around on the shelves. After a long second, Martin mutters, "I didn't _know,_ Nitram. I- I didn't _mean_ for that to happen to Micah, I just-"

"Does not  _matter_ ," Nitram bites back, and then spits something in what Seto thinks might actually be Chinese. Martin takes a step backward, eyes widening. He honestly looks hurt. Standing there for a moment, Nitram glances at him, then bends down and grabs the chair that had fallen. He goes for the second one and shoves it beneath the table. Martin doesn't look at him.

Minutes pass, then Nitram leaves and slams the door shut behind him. Martin finally relaxes and his shoulders slump. He raises his elbows up onto the top of the shelf, which only reaches his chest, and then leans there for a while with his face in his hands.

Finally, Seto croaks, "Are you okay?"

Startling, the angel turns, feathers clanking like windchimes. For a long time, Martin stares at him, then nods slowly and looks away. He doesn't seem up for any sort of conversation, so Seto leaves him be.

Moping around for a few moments, Martin eventually seems to make a decision. He says, "I'll be right back." 

Seto gives him a thumbs up and pretends not to be curious or concerned. He drops his hand back to the bed and watches Martin leave. The door opens and closes softly. Voices filter in through the wall from outside, but Seto can't make anything out. After a long moment, things go quiet outside. Then Nitram comes back in, trudges up the stairs, and disappears into a room. 

Half an hour later, Martin slowly wanders back inside. He sits down on the couch, back to Seto, and says nothing for a long moment. 

Then, he says, "Nitram's willing to heal you. If you want."

"Heal me?"

"You can't tell anyone," Martin quickly cuts in, and turns his head to the side, somewhat facing Seto. "But I-.. I can't do it, not well anyway. Baki or Nitram are your only chances, and I know for a fact Baki won't do any other shit for you or me."

"Like, heal-heal? The whole thing will be gone?" Seto grips at the blanket on top of him and bites his tongue to hold back questions. 

"Not all the way gone. You'll still need to rest, of course, but for the most part..." Martin waves his hand in the air. He still won't turn to face him.

After a moment of staring at the wings slumped to either side of his back, Seto says, "If Nitram's willing, then."

A clock somewhere in the hall ticks out the seconds. Forty of them pass, then Martin gets to his feet with a sigh. He hesitates, then goes towards the stairs. "Okay."

Seto closes his eyes and turns away for a second, thinking. A door opens, there's a short conversation, then two pairs of footsteps tromp down the stairs. Nitram grumbles something under his breath and goes to the kitchen, opening several cabinets in search of something. Martin comes over to the bay window and leans against the table that he'd set the abandoned cup of water on. Seto cranes his head to look for it, parched, but he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to grab it from this angle.

"Okay," Nitram says after a moment, bringing over some sort of charcoal pencil and a small, opaque bottle. A chair slides up without anyone touching it and he sits down. "If you'd move your shirt, please," he says, still obviously awkward, and Seto quickly bunches his shirt up. Red-tinged bandages stare back at him and he turns his head away as Nitram starts peeling them off. 

He isn't particularly happy about this, not really. Then again, he doesn't think  _anybody_ would be happy about getting shot. But this- He didn't sign up for this. He'd never been one too comfortable in his own body. Top surgery had helped, as had- "Oh, fuck."

Nitram's hands quickly draw away. "What?"

"Uh- I- Forgot something, back on the Ground." Shit, he's due for a T-shot in five days. Fuck. "But it's- It's nothing, um. Go on?"

Martin snorts and shoves away from the table and wanders off. Seto doesn't blame him. Nitram sighs through his nose, glances at his brother, then draws a familiar rune on his stomach. Seto winces when it gets too close to the wound. He eyes the stitches and horrible discoloration and again looks away. No need to make himself sick.

A hesitant second passes, then the pain suddenly eases. He glances up to Nitram quickly, just in time to catch his eyes flickering a soft pink, and then looks down to his stomach, where the stitches are uncurling and the skin is folding up, growing back together. It's nothing like the healing Jordan's ever done, but it's somewhat like it. Nitram huffs and gets up and says, "Do not strain yourself. And drink this."

"And don't tell anyone," Martin quips, and his brother glares.

Seto turns the small bottle around and looks for a label, but doesn't find any. "What is this?"

His question is more or less ignored, so he shrugs and unscrews the cap. The smell hits him hard and he groans, holding it out. "Jesus."

"It is good for you," Nitram says as he heads up the stairs. Martin sits down on the couch with a book, and Seto is left to stare at the bottle. He lifts it to his face again, scrunching his nose at the smell, and brings it away. He'd rather get shot again then drink-

"Seto, it's to make sure your body doesn't get rid of the healing magic. I'm sure Jordan gave you something similar whenever he healed you, right?" Martin flips a page in his book and regards him with a raised eyebrow. 

"No, he- He never healed me. Said it was too risky. He usually just experimented with himself." He trails off and swishes the bottle around. Finally, he sighs, pinches his nose, and quickly takes it like a shot.

And then he ends up nearly puking it back up. Gagging at the taste, Seto dry-heaves over the side of the bed. Martin looks up, startled, and says, "Fuck, kid, you didn't have to drink all of it in one- God, fuck it, you do you."

Martin quiets when Seto starts hacking, going into a coughing fit. Each cough jostles his recently-healed injury. And despite it being mostly gone, it still hurts, god damn it.

After a moment, the angel says, "If you got rid of that sigil, it would work better."

"Sigil?"

"... On your back." Martin pretends to read his book but ends up having to flip back a page and start over. It feels like a suggestion, like a prompt, as if it might be a bad idea, but might also be a good one. Seto isn't sure what to think. 

He stares down at the empty bottle, gives a noncommittal grunt, and looks outside to where the sun is setting. 

Eventually, Martin gets up and kneels by the fireplace. He tosses in a handful of logs, and with a snap the fire churns to life. His eyes blaze golden in the light. Seto shivers and momentarily is reminded of shiny black wings mantled above flames, above a burnt and bubbling body, all while toxic eyes glare down at him.

He shakes himself from his reverie and grabs at the covers. By now, it's mostly dark out, with a soft blue glow rising from the flora. He gives a glance out the windows one last time, then hefts himself into a sitting position with a grunt. Martin looks up from the fire, eyes glowing orange, reflecting light that isn't there. Seto pauses to look at the glow coming from his throat.

"You shouldn't-"

Seto swings his legs over the edge, tosses back the comforter, and tries to stand.

And he falls on his face.

Martin sits there and barks a harsh laugh, and offers no hand in helping him up. Seto growls at him and reaches for the top of the bed, finding that he had been much further off the floor than he had thought. He guesses that he needs to get used to the giant furniture. After all, Martin is almost ten feet tall, with his brother even taller.

Struggling to his feet, Seto leans heavily on the bay window cushion's, and says, "Thanks for the hand."

"Figured you should learn how to walk on your own." Martin reaches in, with his actual hand, and pokes at the embers beneath the logs. He looks like a kid playing in the sand. "Nitram told you to rest."

"I'm- Curious." He waves a hand and shoves himself fully onto his feet, only to sway and collapse back against the bed. After a second of regaining his breathing, he sighs and hops back up. "But not that curious."

Martin hums then stands from his crouch and stretches. Wings clattering, he says, "I'm going to bed, Seto. If you need anything, go ahead and call, though I can't promise either of us will come running."

"Thanks," he grunts dryly. Martin scratches his side and goes to one of the ground-level doors. Opening it gives Seto a glance into the bedroom. Illuminated by the brief flash of Martin's eyes, he can only make out the vague shape of a circular bed, and a dresser. Then, Martin grunts a goodnight, and leaves the door slightly cracked.

Two heavy clanks follow a moment after, and then a creak from a bed. Seto shifts around on his own bed, drags the covers up, and turns towards the window.

He doesn't try to sleep that night.

He doesn't think he'd be able to.

[...]

Somewhere around what he guesses might be four in the morning, Nitram comes out of his room. The angel paces down the stairs, hesitates, then goes to the kitchen. Seto stares up at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the wood logs, as Nitram opens the ice box and pulls out a bottle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nitram grab chunks of ice and fill a glass with whatever is in the bottle. 

Another few seconds pass. He sighs and closes his eyes, listening to the light movements. Suddenly, footsteps come nearer. Lifting his head, he blinks as Nitram kneels by the fire and rekindles it back into a blaze. Instead of getting up to leave, the angel remains there, sitting in front of the fireplace, watching. After a long moment, Nitram takes a drink and mutters, "You do not have to pretend to sleep, human."

"My name's Seto," he croaks, "And I'm not pretending."

Nitram hums, tilts his cup to the side as if to say something, but otherwise remains silent. Several minutes pass, then the angel says, "How was he?"

"Huh?"

"On the Ground."

Seto grunts and hefts himself into a sitting position. After a moment, he swings his legs over the edge and leans on his knees. His stomach pulls uncomfortably and he winces. "Uh, I mean. He wasn't as bad as- He wasn't that bad."

Silence.

Then, "I do not really believe you."

"Yeah, I can tell." He picks at his nails, eyeing Nitram's wingless back. The angel has a blanket draped around him, but it starts to slide off when he takes another drink. "I mean- Don't get me wrong, he was pretty bad in the beginning. I dunno what changed."

And he's telling the truth, really, because he can't pinpoint the moment he'd started to trust Martin. Seto thinks back to late nights, just like this, talking to Martin, telling and receiving stories. 

Nitram sighs and tilts his head up, and Seto realizes his drink is almost empty. "I think," the angel starts, "You should not have helped him."

Seto jerks in surprise, glaring over at the angel. "I- No, why would I-?"

"Martin is not a good man," Nitram whispers, and finishes the glass. He pauses, then gets up to go pour another. "And I need you to realize that."

"Well, no, he's not-  _good_ by any means, but." Seto grasps for words, and eventually spits out, "But no angel is. I doubt  _you_ are."

And this, for some reason, earns an actual laugh. It doesn't sound angry, or condescending. It's just humor in there, and that's what unsettles Seto. He'd rarely heard Martin chuckle, much less laugh, in actual amusement.

Humor subsiding, Nitram takes a quick shot, says, "No, I suppose I am not," and then pours more. He grabs the bottle by its neck and brings it with him when he leaves the kitchen.

Instead of returning to sit directly in front of the fire, Nitram slouches into an armchair, kicking one foot up onto the other knee and leaning back. Eventually, after waiting a minute, Seto slowly gets up. The floor is cold beneath his feet and he shivers, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. Nitram is staring at him, but he says nothing. On wobbly legs, Seto manages to limp over to the lowered sitting area. The step gives him more trouble than it's worth, but the couch quickly supports him when he falls. Sliding onto it over the armrest, he says, "But I think people can change. I think angels can change. And what I said... I dunno. Maybe some angels are okay. Not _all_ of you can be the same, that's just- not realistic."

He thinks about police cars exploding without Martin even so much as lifting a finger. He thinks about acidic yellow eyes and how his mother had told him that he can't ever trust angels. He thinks about Jordan, and how he'd hid such a big part of both their lives from him for years. He says, "I have a brother, too. I know how it is."

This earns another chuckle from Nitram, and he takes a shot. The bottle sits on the coffee table, glinting with the lights from the fire. Seto folds the blanket closer.

Suddenly, Nitram murmurs, "They are a- A pain in the ass."

"Yeah." He laughs. "Yeah."

A somewhat comfortable quietness settles over them, softly. Seto stares at the fireplace. Minutes tick by, and then: "I am sorry if we fight."

Seto looks over at Nitram to find the angel filling another glass. "There are very few excuses, none of which you need to really know... But lately... It is as if Martin is just- a different person. He is not how he used to be."

"What was he like?"

"... Kind. As much as he could be, in our situation." Nitram twists the glass around, watching the mostly-melted ice twist back and forth in the amber liquid. "Understanding. And apologetic."

"For what?"

 

_"Brothers? I thought you just had Nitram."_

_"I have three," Martin says, "I killed one. Nitram's all I have left." His voice is monotone and his eyes give nothing away, but then suddenly there's such a sad look, eyes haunted, looking but not seeing at the angel tapestry. Seto stares at him in horror, but the angel quickly ducks in through into the room._

 

"Things in the past." Nitram's eyes look sad, but he covers it up quickly by taking another sip. "Things long gone."

Seto glances away to the walls, noticing a lack of pictures. He supposes cameras aren't that good up Above, but Martin had once mentioned something about having a printing one. He wonders at the blank walls and shelves barren of memories. 

"For what it's worth," Seto starts, "I'm sure he still loves you."

Nitram doesn't flinch, doesn't move. For a long moment, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then swallows down the rest of his glass. "No, Seto. We are angels."

He stands, grabs the bottle and his blanket, and turns towards Seto. "And angels... are not supposed to feel, are they?"

Seto stares at him, and Nitram's smile is sad. A moment passes, and then angel bids him a good night, takes his leave, and brings the half-empty bottle and the cup with him.

He turns away as Nitram lightly ascends the stairs. Staring at the fire, Seto grabs his blanket, twisting the hem. Another few seconds pass, then he slides down onto the couch and curls there.

No, he won't be sleeping tonight.


	3. fever

For some reason, he wakes up on the bay window’s bed. 

Seto sits up suddenly, not remember falling asleep. He blinks over at the fireplace to find it still roaring, and he's surprisingly warm for being so far up in the air during winter. He grabs at his stomach, patting over it, finding there's only slight tenderness. 

Glancing out the window tells him it's sometime during midday. He sees movement, and sits up straighter, pulling the curtains back. Directly outside the window are trees, as if the island was just part of a forest when it had been uprooted. It probably had been. Pine needles splay across the ground, coating it in a blanket. Martin is hauling a large bag past the window, wings mantled and holding it up. The wings are different from ones Seto had seen. Instead of many feathers making up the structure, there are very few, with metal plates and webbing covering the top and bottom of them. They're fairly small, so Seto guesses that they're more for working than flying.

He marches out of view and Seto leans back, letting the curtain drop. He glances over at the rest of the house, but Nitram is nowhere to be seen. After a second of listening for any movement, Seto figures they both must be outside. His sits up, grabbing his stomach when it gurgles hungrily. He doesn't really remember if he'd eaten anything in the hospital, but they must have given him something since he's still alive. 

Deciding to figure out lunch himself, he drags himself out from under the covers and slides down onto the floor. Once again, it's incredibly cold against his feet. He wonders if they'd have any socks that fit him. Seto glances down at himself and looks over the plain grey clothes he's in. Even these don't fit, but surprisingly, they are actually too small.

Frowning to himself, Seto slides a hesitant foot forward, hating how his knees are shaking. He figures since Nitram had healed him, he would be fine by now. Obviously, he was wrong. So he uses the wall to hold himself up, and then when that's going in the opposite direction of the kitchen, hobbles forward on his own. 

It's slow progress. He has to stop by the couch for a second. He knows if he sits down on the floor, he probably wouldn't be able to haul himself up, so he continues on despite his stomach's shrieking and his legs about to give out on him. 

Seto collapses against the bookshelf, grabbing at where the wound was. He looks down, quickly, to make sure he isn't bleeding. He isn't, but it still hurts like a bitch. After taking a moment to breathe, Seto shakes his head and continues on, stumbling to the table. The top of it reaches his shoulders, and he feels like a little kid again, trying to peer over a counter. The  _chairs_ are twice as big as he is.

He doesn't know how the fuck he's going to survive this.

But finally, after a few more stumbles, and a near-fall, he slams into the refrigerator and slides to the ground gasping. 

He sits there for a long moment, head leaning back against the fridge's door. He makes a half-aborted movement as if to grab onto the handle and haul himself up again, but his hand drops back to his stomach. He pulls his shirt up and frowns at the horrible bruise where the bullet had entered. He gently presses at it, wincing heavily when pain sears through him. 

That wasn't there before.

And then the front door opens. Seto shoves his shirt back down and looks up. Martin notices him a moment later. The angel pauses, then says, "Hell, kid, why are you up? Nitram told you to rest."

"I'm hungry," he says, surprised to find he's out of breath and his throat is full of gravel. He gives a quick cough and Martin raises an eyebrow, then sighs and heads over. He offers a hand to Seto, which he takes. He can't manage to hide a wince as he gets up and Martin frowns at him. 

"You're alright, though?" With Martin's help, Seto hobbles over to the table. The angel lifts him and sets him down on it. 

"Uh- Yeah, yeah. Feeling better, just tired." He crosses his arms over his stomach when it growls. Maybe he's just hungry. And besides, maybe the bruise had been there. He hadn't really paid all that much attention to it when Nitram had healed it. "And starving."

"Oh. Yeah, I got fruit for you, actually." Martin goes to the cabinets and opens one, pulling out a bowl of different-shaped fruits. Most were blue or purple, though there were bright pink ones scattered about. 

When offered the bowl, Seto grabs out the biggest blue one, which is round and pebbly, and then four of the plum-like pink ones. Surprisingly, the smaller ones are incredibly bitter and sour. He pulls a face and Martin snorts, sets the bowl by him, and then says, "Anyway. My brother and I have work to do. Catch up on the shop, all that. So neither of us will really be around during the day. Feel free to wander, if you're up for it, but I really suggest you lay down and rest some more."

"Wander?" He wipes bright red juice off his lips and grimaces at the color.

"Around the island, of course. Just- Don't fall off the edge, please? There aren't any guard rails." Martin gives him an awkward pat on the head and turns to leave. "Help yourself to the kitchen, but be careful what you eat. Oh, and there's an outhouse, out the back door." He gestures to one of the doors and then hesitates. "The washroom is next to my room, but there's no toilet, so you'll have to go outside if you..."

"Yeah, yeah." Seto nods after him and finishes off the not-plum. He opens his mouth to say something, but Martin is already on his way out. Seto sighs and glances at the other fruits and puts the three he'd grabbed back, before taking a blue one and trying it.

He blinks in surprise, pulls it back, and stares, because god damn, it tastes like a fucking  _bell pepper_.

"'Fruit' my ass," he grumbles but eats it anyway.

[...]

Appetite finally sated, Seto sits on the table and contemplates how, exactly, he's even going to get down. 

The floor isn't  _too_ far from him, but he's still fairly high up, for his condition. And he isn't the tallest person in the world.

(He wonders how Adam could be so tall and still growing, but he and Jordan are just normal height.)

Maybe it's just unlucky genetics. Seto never met his father, doesn't even know who it could be. His mom had never said anything about him, other than that Seto just... shouldn't ask.

So it's entirely possible that his father could be a  _short_ angel. Wouldn't that just be Seto's luck?

His swinging heels tap against the table leg as he sits there thinking. Yeah, he has to use the bathroom. But he isn't sure he'd be able to hobble to the outhouse, and even then he isn't sure if he would fall in, with how weak he is.

He prays to any god out there that it's human-sized.

With a suffering sigh, he braces his hands against the table and starts to slide down. His back scrapes uncomfortably against the hard edge of the table, but then his feet hit the ground and he's standing. With an exhale, he starts forward, heading for the back door Martin had pointed out. As he walks without support, he starts to feel a bit stronger. Really, he shouldn't have been up and moving around like this so soon after being  _shot_. He's surprised he's even awake at all, much less walking around.

Grabbing the door and hefting it open - Christ, it's like fifteen feet tall - Seto has to blink at the immediate rush of cold air that slaps him in the face. He leans back, glancing around the outdoors.

The outhouse is, thankfully, fairly close, and not tucked away in some hidden alcove as he'd somewhat expected. The yard in front of him is crowded, bursting with beautiful, multicolored flower-like plants and burgundy bushes full of dark, gleaming berries. He's tempted to try those, but at the same time, he isn't sure if they would be poisonous or not.

Somewhere in the distance is the cracking of metal on metal, and Seto worries momentarily that Martin and Nitram are fighting again. But after taking a moment to listen, he realizes that it's too rhythmic, and Seto wonders what sort of blacksmith the twins have. Martin  _had_ mentioned something about catching up on work.

Seto sighs and heads towards the outhouse, shoving the heavy wooden door open and wrinkling his nose. No, this is something he will  _never_ be happy about. Especially since he isn't sure how long he'll be up Above...

"Fuck," he mutters and tries not to think about such heavy things when relieving himself. 

The task of the day done, Seto starts to head back to the house, when a shadow passes over him. He glances up instinctively to find Nitram swooping down, taking wide circles to land. There is a strange, angel-less set of wings trailing behind him, pulled along by a cord. There are bundles of what Seto can only guess are supplies, wrapped tightly to the set's base. 

A moment passes of Nitram circling, and then Martin suddenly rises into the air. They don't greet each other, but with a short whistle from Martin, Nitram slows his pace, letting him disengage the wing set. 

Martin guides the set to the ground, Nitram suddenly darting under to grab it beneath, barking something at his brother. 

Their short spat can be heard from where Seto is at, but then they disappear behind the trees. Seto glances around again, head craning up to look at the house. The floor he'd been staying on is on the ground, but then there's another extension of the house, built up into the trees. Half of it hangs  _off_ the island, and Seto feels somewhat sick to his stomach, and even more reluctant to go back inside. Logically, he knows that the house won't collapse. Sure, it seems to have some creaks that old houses just have, but two full-grown angels live in it. If it was going to collapse, it would have by now.

Still.

He swallows and glances around, up at the trees again. While most of them seem to be pine trees, or something akin to pine trees, a handful looked to be young redwood trees. He can barely see the top of those, but they're further away on the island. He hobbles a bit to the left and suddenly a hill slopes down in front of him, showing a grassy green hill and then more giant trees beyond that.

After a moment of standing there like an idiot, shivering in his clothes, Seto hugs himself and starts heading back inside. His stomach is starting to ache again. It's a dull, constant pain, even if he stops and rests for a moment. Holding a hand over it, he quickly slinks back inside, limping first to his bed to grab a blanket, and then going to sit in front of the fireplace.

He  _really_ doesn't like being so cold.

Seto watches the fire for a while before he lays down on his side, grimacing at the pain. He starts to curl up, instinctively wanting to coil around the wound, but sharp agony spears through him, leaving him gasping. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, and pales at the swelling and bruise.

It's much worse than what he had seen when he last looked at it. The bruise is now an ugly, mottled purple, fresh and angry. Right where the bullet had been, is a large welt, crimson and aching and concerning. Seto stares for a minute, then slowly lowers his shirt. He isn't sure what to do. Obviously, Nitram's magic' didn't stick. Or maybe something had gone wrong? Jordan had never healed him, so Seto isn't sure if it's  _supposed_ to do this. Maybe it is. Maybe it has to get worse before it gets better.

(But Martin's wounds had so easily stitched themselves closed, skin pulling taut and clean and healthy when he had been out in the fairy ring for the first time.)

With shaking hands, Seto pushes his shirt down and grabs the blanket, tucking it under his chin. He's shivering horribly, and with a grunt, he slides off the couch and onto the floor to get closer to the fireplace. After a moment, he finds that sitting up is too tiring, so he bundles himself in the thick comforter and lays on the ground, using an arm as a pillow.

For a moment, the crackling of fire is the only sound. The warmth drifts over him, promising comfort. He basks for a moment and then is asleep.

[...]

He wakes up and it's night time. Seto hesitates, then slowly sits up, glancing around, trying to figure out what woke him up.

And sitting at the other end of the couch is Nitram. The bottle is out on the coffee table, as well as an extra cup of ice, and the angel is nursing a glass of whatever alcohol it is. Nitram looks up from his book at Seto's movement and says, "You did not seem comfortable on the floor; I hope the couch is okay."

"Yeah, it's- It's fine." He coughs, trying to get the gravel from his throat. "It's warmer here than the window."

Nitram tilts his glass, eyebrows rising slightly. "Yes, well, there is a fire."

Somewhat uncomfortable with the actual attempt at humor, Seto shifts awkwardly, coughing again. Nitram sighs and mutters something about the punchline being better in his native language.

A moment passes. Seto finally asks, "So... how many different languages do you know?"

Nitram pauses, takes a sip, then hums and says, "Somewhere around ten, not including the Above languages."

"How many are there for this place?"

"Oh, just two," Nitram answers, "East and West."

Seto glances at him, trying to read any emotion in his expression. There isn't; Nitram takes another drink and goes to fill his glass, adding some ice. "Not that anybody here speaks of the West's language."

"So English..."

"It is not one of my best," Nitram admits, "The humans here do not speak as much as they do in-" 

A silence suddenly falls, slamming down like rocks, and Seto balks at the abrupt quiet. Nitram stares at his glass, drinks, then says, "Excuse me, forget I said anything."

In return, Seto coughs. He holds his stomach, aching from the jostling. Nitram glances over at him and nods at the wound, "How is that? It should be mostly healed by now, but I am not- entirely sure since you are a human."

"Oh, uh." Seto swallows and plays with the edge of the comforter. "It's fine. Still a little sore, but it's- Yeah, it's okay."

Nitram stares at him for a long moment, eyes glittering like rubies in the light of the fire. He turns back and they burn gold and the fire roars. "That is good to hear."

Seto shifts in his seat, hand continuously held over his stomach as if to protect it. "So- You and Martin. You make wings?"

"As a business, yes." Nitram goes to pour more and then downs half of it. He drinks the rest before he says, "Finest... wingsmiths around.  _Only_ ones around, really, if you exclude the few factories there are."

"Oh, so you don't make all of them, but-"

"Well, no, we design the ones sent to other shops, usually. They usually change those designs, but we still profit from it." Nitram grabs the other cup and halves the ice, then pours a bit in the second glass. "Do you want any?"

"Oh, um." It's more or less thrust into his hands, so he takes it, despite the fact he  _hates_ alcohol. Nitram doesn't look back at him expectantly, so Seto just holds it instead of taking a drink. "You drink often?"

"More or less," is the answer he gets, so he figures that's a yes. After a moment passes, Seto carefully lifts the glass and takes a sip. It burns his throat, and he can't even place the taste but it's  _terrible_. Nitram laughs when he coughs and drinks from his own glass, and pours more, and Seto isn't sure how much it takes an angel to get drunk. But he isn't too sure he wants to deal with a drunk Nitram.

Maybe he's a happy drunk. 

Seto can only really hope. "So, uh, where's your island from?"

"From?"

"Yeah, 'cause you angels drag the islands up from the Ground, you know?" Seto takes another drink, despite himself, and gags at it. It's more like a gulp, at least, so-

"Oh, no, ours isn't from the Ground." Nitram stares at the fire for a while. Then he shrugs a shoulder, says, "When we got it, we were too poor to hire the Dragon to dig it up for us."

"Dragon?"

"Nathaniel... _owns_ him," Nitram growls, drinks, and then says, "The poor creature is trained to dredge up land for islands, and then locked away in the dark until he is needed again."

"Oh," Seto says intelligently, still reeling from the fact that there's a  _dragon_ living somewhere in the Above. "It's chained up, like- Locked up?"

"Sadly," Nitram mutters. And they sit there for a long time, and then suddenly Seto finds that Nitram is refilling his glass. He glances down at the newly filled cup and his grip tightens because when he looks back over at Nitram, the whole world is kind of swirling. Seto tilts to the side to follow it, then rocks back and laughs, and says, "Alcohol is- It's barely on the Ground anymore. We can't make it, you know? And the ferry trips across the seas are too expensive so our island never really got any."

Nitram hums and says, "What the West has done to the Ground..." But then he trails off and doesn't finish the thought.

"Apparently, my island's part of what used to be a place called Missouri." He vaguely remembers reading something about how there were separate countries in the Americas, but he can't really recall. He never was one for history. "It's some- District, or something, from the old North America."

Nitram hesitates, then shakes his head, and says, "We have no such thing up here. Districts, or anything of the like. Besides, it would be too hard to map everything out. The islands move, and are always different."

"Yeah, well, it's not like that down there. The maps keep having to be updated, though, because more and more land is being pulled out." Seto falters and looks away, rubbing at his stomach where the wound is aching. His right arm feels funny and everything's a bit blurry and a bit wobbly. He doesn't think he'll be able to stand. "I live in the eighteenth district. There were only ten other graduating students in my grade."

"Huh," Nitram says, and Seto's pretty sure he isn't all that interested. So he goes back to trying his best to drink what he's been given, but then his stomach starts feeling gross, so he puts the glass down on the coffee table, spilling some, and mutters something about going to sleep.

With a heave, Seto shoves himself to his feet and instantly collapses to the floor. Nitram has the decency to laugh at him, and then pick him up. "Just use the couch. Be careful not to fall out."

Seto eyes the open space below the back seat of the couch, meant for wings to rest through, and nods and mumbles unintelligently. He makes multiple grabs at his blanket, failing each time, before finally being able to pull them onto himself. Nitram stays at the other end of the couch, a fair space between them. The ice clacking against his glass as he refills it is the last thing Seto hears before he's asleep.

[...]

"Seto."

Groaning, Seto peels open his eyes, finding them crusted together with sleep. He rubs at one, wiping sweat from his eyelids and forehead. "Huh?"

"Seto."

Slowly, he sits up and nearly screams in pain. But he can't even do so much as gasp because of it, and grasp at the wound. His hand comes away bloody. Confused, Seto stares for a moment, before peeling his shirt away from his body and staring at the wound in the light of the still-glowing embers. The flesh has come undone, bleeding profusely and oozing what's probably puss. Seto jerks his shirt back down, terrified, and tries to gurgle out a cry for help.

"Seto?"

He looks up, and around, but the only one in the room is himself. Maybe Martin's outside? It doesn't  _sound_ like Martin, and it doesn't sound like Nitram, either. Struggling to figure out who could be calling his name so early in the morning, Seto slowly pulls his legs over the side of the couch. He wobbles when he stands, and collapses. But then the voice calls for him again, and it's distinctly feminine, and with a jolt, he recognizes who it is.

"Seto, come here."

New strength in his bones, Seto scrambles up. He hobbles towards the door, using furniture and walls to help him along, leaving bloody smears on his way out. "Mom?"

The voice quiets and, desperate, he shoves open the door.

The air is full of fog, so thick that he can't even see his hand when he reaches out. With a jolt, he realizes that the island must be passing through a cloud. Seto stumbles forward, all but blind, looking at the glowing foliage. It lights the bottom of the cloud but limits the visibility even more.

"Hurry, Seto, come here."

"Mom!" he cries, and stumbles towards where the voice is. Gasping in pain, holding his stomach with both arms, he keeps going forward, dragging one foot in front of the other. "Mom, where are you?"

"Over here!" calls the voice and he staggers to a halt, turning halfway around and hurrying towards the sound. A looming building crops up in the fog to his right, but he ignores it, hurrying past it as fast as he can. 

And there, in the billows of clouds, is a figure. It turns, long hair swishing the fog, and disappears again. "Seto!"

"I'm coming, Mom! Hang on." The last part is a whisper, gravel in his throat, and he coughs, raising a hand to cover it. Bloody specks dapple his palm, but he ignores them and flounders on. He can see her, in the mist, in the fog, he can just barely make out her shape, and he raises a trembling hand as if to reach out and grab her.

And then the island finally passes through the cloud, and the edge of it yawns in front of him, and he can't step back in time.

A scream is ripped from his throat when he falls. He cries out for his mom, cries out for her to save him, help him, where did she go where did she go why did you go. 

He falls for eternity, passing through another cloud, and when he spins in the air he gets a glimpse of the ocean far below him, rushing up, and he cries out again because he knows it's going to be like concrete, and he will die.

Then, a glint above him. Seto looks up to find an angel diving, wings shining in the moonlight. Seto hits a cloud, and everything is obscured, but the moment he appears out of it, Martin is there.

The angel falls with him, grabbing him and pulling him close. He doesn't immediately swoop out of the dive and Seto struggles against him, screaming, "Let me go! Let- Let me-"

Martin's wings open slowly, and their descent slows, and then they're flying forward, slowly. Seto hears metal gears click together and Martin is otherwise silent as he snaps his wings out fully and heaves downwards. They rise quickly, away from the gaping dark ocean.

Seto shrieks at him, kicks and writhes, because god  _damn_ it, he just wants to see his mom again, but no angel will ever give him that, no angel would ever be so kind. "I hate you! I hate you, let me down, let me- go!"

Martin growls, and it's a noise only animals can make, and Seto looks up to find that his teeth are bared. This close, Seto can see the second layer behind the first, like sharks teeth, replacements in the case one might fall out. His throat is glowing brightly, angrily, and Seto worries that there's fire building in Martin's chest. 

And then they're on land. Nitram, wingless, hurries over, and then Seto's being passed to his arms, and then they're inside. The brothers are fighting, talking, and suddenly Seto's shirt is being pulled over his head. He struggles and kicks, and manages to catch Nitram in the collarbone. Someone puts a hand over his legs to keep him from struggling.

A hand settles over his back, between his shoulder blades, and he falls still because he knows that's where the sigil had been carved into him, so long ago.

"What the hell," Nitram whispers; a thumb passes over the sigil and the angel hisses, pulling back. "What is that?"

"Suppressing sigil," Martin says, "It's keeping the magic from healing him. He's- Nitram, he won't-"

"No, he'll be fine. We need to get rid of this." Nitram suddenly stands and hurries to the fire. Seto watches, barely lucid, as it's stoked and roars into a blaze. Nitram rushes up the stairs, calling, "Put pressure on the wound, keep him still."

Seto doesn't feel it when Martin presses a cloth to his stomach. He doesn't feel it when Martin holds the side of his face and opens his left eye, looking at pupils and irises that don't have magic to color them. Seto leans into his hand, because he's sure he's going to die, because he can't feel his body, can't move his tongue or his hands or his feet. He sniffs and a soft rasping sound escapes him.

"Nitram," Martin calls, suddenly, panicked, "Nitram, his heart. His heart's not-"

Seto can't feel anything. He realizes, suddenly, that he isn't breathing, but at this point, he knows it will hurt, that it's better to just lie still. His eyes close, and then they open one more time, and there isn't any air in his lungs, in his blood.

Suddenly, someone leans him forward. His head lolls against a shoulder, and then something is  _pressed_ to his back. The stench of burning flesh fills the air and he screams, cries, gasping in shock and pain. The metal brand is taken away from his back, pulling skin and blood with it. He thrashes and wails, trying to get the hands off of him, trying to make this stop, make everything stop. 

And then, it does.

The relief is instant, drowning out the hot burn of agony, flooding in with chill ice water, and Nitram takes his hand from the sigil he'd drawn on quickly. Seto gasps, lungs inflating, deflating, and he grips at his bare, smooth stomach. Martin leans him back, slowly, onto the blanket piled at the armrest of the couch. Nitram gets up and a scrape of metal follows. Seto manages to catch a glimpse of an iron pole, a bar going flat at the end, still red-hot and bubbling with dead flesh. He shivers and looks away, and his eyes meet Martin's.

The angel pulls back, suddenly, and horror draws his face tight. "Nitram," he whispers, "Oh god."

"What?"

"His eyes."

Seto reaches up to rub one of said eyes as if that would do anything about the strange light. He glances around, the world sharp and in focus, bright despite it being night time. He groans out a wordless noise and when Nitram comes around to look, he mutters a curse in some other language and starts pacing.

"What's-?" He tries to sit up, but Martin pushes him back down.

"No, Seto, just- Just rest. We'll- Uh, we'll deal with this in the morning." Martin grabs at his brother's wrist, a silent conversation passing between them in a few seconds. Nitram leaves the living room and- A few clicks follow, and Seto can  _hear_ the metal grinding on wood, and he realizes Nitram's locking the doors. On the back door, something is wrong with the mechanism, because it isn't the smooth sound like it was from the front. Seto blinks and his head tilts to the side, but he can't work up the energy to move too much.

So Seto stares up at Martin, and he realizes he can hear the angel's heartbeat, thundering away. There seems to be an echo, though, a strange second heartbeat, just behind the first. Angels must have two hearts. Seto twitches, lifts his arm, presses his hand against Martin's chest.

He tries to gurgle something to say, but doesn't manage to make anything intelligible. Martin's worried, glowing eyes flick back to him, and then he moves. He's holding that charcoal pencil. He etches something onto Seto's bare shoulder, and suddenly he can't hear any heartbeats, and then on the next rune Martin draws, Seto's hand falls limp and he tilts his head back.

His eyes close, and then there's just  _nothing_.


	4. here's to my future, here's to my yesterday

The pillow over his head does nothing to block out the noise. It helps with the light, but the  _sounds_.

There are birds outside, somewhere far away, and they sound like ambulance sirens, they sound like hurricanes, like construction vehicles knocking down buildings. And they're just  _birds_. 

Nitram and Martin just walking around have already given him a migraine, despite the angels moving as quietly as they could. He hasn't managed to say anything to them, he can't ask what's happening or when it will end, because he's scared the moment he opens his mouth it will make everything hurt  _more_. He can hear Martin's heartbeat, five feet away, while he's sitting in the chair. He isn't asleep, Seto doesn't think he _ever_ really sleeps, but his breathing is deep, slow, and it sounds like it's on purpose. Seto can't even find comfort in that, it's too loud.

He lays there for what feels like days, just trying to adjust. Eventually, one of the twins comes by and presses another charcoal sigil onto his arm. The migraine lessens immediately and sounds dull. He flinches at the sudden lack of senses, but wouldn't trade it for anything else. 

Slowly, he sits up, keeping a hand over his eyes, barely peeking out from between his fingers. Once he's sure the light won't kill him, he takes his hand away. Martin pulls back, pencil in hand. He stays silent for a long time, then says, "I'm sorry I couldn't do that sooner. Too much healing magic is horrible for the body. Especially one not- fully angel."

He glances away, taps the pencil on his leg, and eventually says, "Dinner is going to be made in a bit if you're hungry."

Seto's really  _not_. He glances over to the window to find the curtains drawn back, blocking out anything outside. "I-" His voice doesn't work for a second, so he swallows and tries again, "What did you do?"

His back is  _killing_ him. He can barely move without it searing in pain. He reaches back, awkwardly trying to feel between his shoulder blades. Martin grabs his hand and pulls it away. "Don't- Don't touch it, I'm not sure what it will do."

"What?"

"The- suppressing sigil. We interrupted it by burning a bar through it, but as far as I can tell, it's still active, more or less."

"But- I could hear-"

"It's weaker," Martin quickly says, letting go of Seto's wrist. "It's definitely not going to hold back any magic or genes that have been dormant, but we're really not sure what it would do if we tampered with it anymore."

So he has an actual bomb on his back, waiting to go off. Seto falls still, wondering what the  _fuck_ he's going to do. After a long time of sitting in silence, he whispers, "I don't- I don't want this."

"I'm sorry," Martin says instantly, "You- The sigil, it rejected Nitram's magic, it just made everything worse, and. We didn't know what else to do."

Seto doesn't say anything. He glances over to the curtains again and pulls them back, squinting at the light. The sky is blazing gold, pinks and reds smeared across the clouds. The island is resting somewhere in the top of the cloud line, like a boat in the ocean. He can't see much beyond the trees and foliage, but some of the puffs are washing over the top, covering the ground in a fog.

"Seto?"

"I'm fine," he snaps quickly, jarring the burn wound on his back when he hugs himself. He refuses to look over at Martin, refuses to think about how easy his life would still be if the angel hadn't crashed in his backyard, refuses to think about how he doesn't'  _want_ this, he just wants to go home-

"When this is better," he says suddenly, and meets Martin's acidic orange eyes, "I want to go home."

Martin sits back, blinks, says, "Oh."

Seto turns away again, rubbing his arms, careful of the sigil drawn on his shoulder. "I'm- I'm sick of angels... tampering with my life."

There's silence behind him. Seto closes his eyes and stays like that for a long time. Eventually, Martin gets up and leaves. Seto can hear him bumping around in the kitchen, probably making dinner. After a few minutes, the back door opens and Nitram quietly comes in. The brothers exchange a few words, and then the sounds of cooking resume. Nitram doesn't leave the kitchen; Seto figures he's probably helping.

Finally, Seto glances down to his upper arm, studying the sigil Martin had drawn on. It's careful, precise, with straight lines slashing through each other inside a diamond. Cautiously, he brings a thumb to his mouth, licks it, then gently smears the sigil.

The effects are immediate. Sound crashes into him like churning waves, slamming into his head. He clenches his eyes shut and covers his ears, breathing deeply through his nose. Nitram and Martin don't seem to notice anything wrong. Carefully keeping his breathing stable, he slowly pulls his hands away from his ears.

He's grateful, for once, that the angels don't seem to have any clocks. He isn't sure he'd be able to deal with the ticking. They're far enough away that he can't hear their heartbeats, but the shuffling of feet on hardwood and utensils clacking is still like police sirens. Seto takes another deep breath, eyes still closed, and slowly reaches for the window. 

The latch is horizontal, a huge sliding bar that he has to shove with most of his weight to get to move. There are several locks around the edges, as well, which he easily flips over. Then he shoves the two panes open, letting cold wind blow over him. Birds sing outside, oblivious to any new pain, calling to each other from the trees.

For a while, he sits there, paying attention to the whistling of the wind, the distant clinking of wind chimes, and the birds' melody. 

And finally, he opens his eyes.

His hearing is one thing, but the  _sight_. That's something else entirely. His eyesight has never been too good; things get blurry if he is too far away. But now everything is like- it's sharper than crystal, so pristine and new and bright. The greens and earthen browns on the trees are vibrant, bursting with color as if it were springtime. The flora on the ground is a riot of colors, a spectrum Seto thought couldn't exist, several colors he can't put a name to smeared in. The sunset, having faded since he'd last seen it, is now freshly ablaze, ruby fires dancing across the clouds and open, darkening sky. He leans further out the window, still squinting against the light, looking up at the stars.

He'd- There had never been so  _many_. He gapes upwards, picking out constellations he'd thought he'd only see through a telescope. And then, right up to his left, almost out of his line of sight, something shoots through the sky, a comet hurtling by, trailing dust and light. 

It's only a few minutes later does he realize Nitram and Martin have stopped making any noise. He twists around, looking at the two, and that's the first time he feels the magic. They stare back at him, eyes wide, two reflections of each side of the mirror. He doesn't mind them, frowning, trying to prod at the magic more, trying to feel it better.

It's like yarn, strings flowing in currents around him. It pours from the two angels in waves, the separate currents washing together into one, swirling around them. He reaches out, as if to drag his fingers through the strings, but it shies away from him. For some reason, it's upsetting, so he tries to grab again, with both hands this time.

It yanks towards him. He blinks, expecting to see the strings he feels cupped in his hands. After a bit more of feeling around, he notices how most of the magic is swirling  _around_ him, not through or out of him like the twins. Somehow, he's desperate for that, and he tugs again, bundles it towards him.

And then there's a short cry from Martin, an aborted, "Stop!"

And white erupts into Seto's vision.

The explosion sends him back into the wall, head cracking against the wood. He hears chairs clatter against each other, and something breaks. The distinct sound of a fire roaring and popping sizzles across his senses and he scrambles away, falling off the bay window bed and onto the floor. Something shatters and he screams, covering his face as glass rains over him. The table by the window rattles and rips itself from where it had been nailed to the floor, flinging across the room to slam into the bookshelf, sending items flying. 

And suddenly, Nitram's grabbing him, and everything falls still. Martin looks their way, eyes blazing a strange light yellow, nearly tan, his hands held out in fists, wings rattling and mantled. Seto gasps against Nitram's chest, then realizes where he is. He struggles away, falling to the ground and scooting backwards until he hits a wall.

There's absolute, stunned silence.

Then, Martin slowly says, "Seto, you can't do that."

"Wh- I don't- I don't even know what I- I-" He glances towards the fire, which Nitram goes over to hurriedly try to douse. It's crackling over the lips of the fireplace, clawing to escape. "I didn't- I didn't mean to, I swear, I-"

"Martin, it's not going down," Nitram calls, worriedly drawing a rune on the side of the furnace. He taps it with his hand, but the fire roars higher, angry.

"Seto," Martin says, turning back to him, "You have to let go. Let go of it, or you're going to burn the house down."

"I'm not- I'm-" Seto tries to feel for the strings he'd felt, trembling, but there's a vice around his heart, stabbing pains in his lungs, and he can't concentrate enough. He glances down at his hands, curled into fists, and looks back to Martin. "I'm not trying to, I- I don't know-"

"Martin," Nitram calls again, eyes flicking to Seto, then back to the fire. He backs up, watching the soaring flames for a second before hurrying to the faucet. The moment it turns on, he gathers the water in a bundle, eyes glittering light cerulean. When he runs back over, it hardly makes the flames flinch.

"Seto, let  _go_ of it." Martin comes forward, grabbing his hand, and prying his fingers open. The moment his palm is exposed, the fire sputters out, dying quickly. Nitram goes to gather more water to make sure it's out.

Seto stares over at the dark furnace, shaking. He pulls his hand away from Martin, going to hug himself. His back is burning, tingling as if it had lost feeling. Stomach threatening to spill anything it has, he quietly says, "What just- I-"

"So he can use magic," Nitram says helpfully, and Martin groans and rubs his eyes. A moment passes and, still pinching the bridge of his nose, he says, "Okay. Okay, Seto, you can use magic. This is- Wonderful."

"It avoided me," Seto says as if to defend himself, "And I- I don't know, I just..."

"It's okay," Nitram quickly pipes in, "Fledglings often cannot control magic. You are young- A bit too young for a normal angel to be showing this kind of magic, but it  _has_ been building up all your life."

"He's-" Martin cuts himself off, and looks away, then stands and offers a hand to Seto. He grabs it and Martin hauls him to his feet. "Here, let me see, turn around real quick."

Seto does as he's told, flinching when Martin runs a hand over the sigil on his back. He calls Nitram over and for a second, Seto awkwardly just stands there. 

Finally, Martin says, "It's dead. The sigil. Whatever you did, kid, you made sure it can't be reversed."

Seto gives that a second to sink in. He pales and looks up, looks at the sharp view of the world, at the window with the dark sky and glowing plants, and then he turns and looks at the two angels. 

He says, "Fuck."

[...]

They can't keep the dulling rune on him for too long. Nitram says it's bad for the health, but Seto would rather have that than a near-constant headache. 

He's getting used to it, at least. Any sort of noise still makes him wince, but he at least doesn't have a migraine. After a couple of days, it's just a dull throbbing, which is good.

Compared to his sides.

Seto pokes at his lower ribs, flinching heavily. He can't see any bruising, and he doesn't remember getting hurt except for when he'd hit his head in the explosion the other day. But that had gone over with little worry of any migraine; it was just a bump on the head.

This, though- This is  _not_ good. He'd thought he'd be out of side pains when he'd gotten surgery and didn't have to bind anymore. Apparently not, because the universe  _fucking_ hates him.

Dropping his shirt with a sigh, he glances down at his hands, envisioning strings passing over. He curls them into fists, but the magic doesn't tug. Something in his chest aches at that, but he brushes it off.

After a long moment of sitting on his usual couch spot, Seto sighs and stands, grunting when his leg cramps. He kicks his foot against the floor until it stops and goes for the kitchen. They're out of fruit - it's really all he's been eating as of late - so he instead pulls open the icebox and rummages through, finding the leftovers from last night. After a moment of holding the tinfoil, he frowns and glances around. He only realizes now that they don't actually have a microwave. How the hell is he supposed to heat anything up?

Seto's gaze momentarily swings towards the furnace, but neither angel has lit it since he'd accidentally almost burned the house down. The rooms are still heated, somehow; he figures there must be a separate furnace somewhere else in the house. 

With a sigh, he resigns himself to cold leftovers and heads back to the couch, sitting down with a hiss when his legs protest. They're starting to hurt, too, which is even  _more_ concerning because, Christ, he can't just constantly be in pain. He's kind of already sick of it.

Seto plucks at the foil, pulling it away from the- He isn't sure what Nitram had called it when previously offered, but it sort of reminds him of garlic knots. With hot sauce instead of garlic, and potatoes instead of bread. He doesn't even know if they're made of potatoes. Whatever it was before was a dark burgundy, but almost the size of his head. 

He misses the chili his mom had made whenever it got cold. Then again, he'd always grow sick of it because she would make enough to last for  _weeks_. He thinks his diet was composed of solely chili and soup during the winter. 

Kind of smiling to himself, Seto picks at the food, somehow managing to ignore the strange taste and just finish the meal. It takes him a bit; his ribs hurt with  _literally_ every breath. He should probably tell Martin about that.

Almost as if he could read minds, Martin shoves open the door, wings shining with snow. He shakes it off and steps out of his boots, shedding every layer of clothing except for a shirt and shorts. He mindlessly waves at Seto as he passes by and goes to the fridge, then mumbles something about Nitram eating his goddamn leftovers.

Seto stops, mid-bite, and glances down at said leftovers. Quickly shoving the last bite in his mouth, he quietly bundles up the foil and sticks it in his pocket. He'll figure that out later. "Is it snowing out there?"

Martin glances over, then to the shutter-drawn windows. "Oh, uh. No, but it is below the cloudline. We don't really get much weather up here, but sometimes we get caught in storms." He taps at some sort of gauge at the top of the icebox. "The rainy season shouldn't be for a few months, though, so we'll be alright."

Seto winces when he gets up, hand going to his side. Martin has already turned back to the icebox, hunting down leftovers that  _aren't_ eaten. "What kind of storms do you get up here?"

"Eh, the islands just get caught, sometimes. We have weights; they keep it from tipping over." Then, to himself, "I should really check on those."

Seto kicks a stool over and clambers up to grab a cup. The sink is too tall, too, but also too far away for him to just grab the cup and fill it. Sighing, silently bemoaning about his ribs, he slides the stool over and turns on the tap. "So like, just rainstorms?"

"Hurricanes are fun, too." Martin finally picks something and slams the door, not noticing Seto's pale expression. 

"Hurricanes?"

"Yeah. It's like a- a- Rollercoaster, that's what those are called." Martin taps his temple, sends a sideways grin to Seto, and says, "I remembered from the- videos."

"Oh, yeah, yeah those." Seto refills his cup and follows Martin to the couch. "Uhm, speaking of those- Do you have my phone? You gave me my old clothes back, but my phone had just been in my pocket. I- I really hope you didn't wash it?"

"Well," Martin starts, and Seto wants to hit something. Then the angel says, "Nitram almost took it apart. I saved it, you're welcome, let me go get it."

He stands, leaving the foil-wrapped leftovers on the armrest. Seto sighs and slumps in relief then bites his lip when pain sears through both sides. Grunting, holding himself, he leans over, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down. He hears Martin shuffling around in his room, a short curse, and then footsteps approaching. He sits back up when the angel emerges from his room, familiar black box in his hand. It's way too small for him to hold; it looks like a toy. Seto gratefully grabs it from him and presses the home button, surprised to find it still has 32% battery left. 

Tapping in the lock number, his good mood plummets when he notices there's no service. He'd been planning on calling Jordan, or at least Adam, to tell them that he's okay. "Oh."

"What?" Martin glances up from his book.

"Uh- No service. I was, uh, gonna call Jordan." Seto takes a moment to look over the screen before shutting it off. "Guess it doesn't matter, I'll be going back soon."

Martin goes quiet at this. They sit like that for a few minutes before Seto gets up and wanders to the bookshelf. Hardly anything is in English. He frowns, shuffling through scrolls, strange tablet-like books, and anything else there. He finds a few maps and, bored, he shrugs and pulls those out. After a moment of puzzlement, his jaw drops and he turns to Martin. "You- You have maps of the old Ground?"

"Hm?" Martin says intelligently, food in his mouth. He stands and comes over, finishing the bite before saying. "Huh. Nitram must have kept those. Let me see."

He takes one of them from Seto's hands and looks over it, eyes lingering on Asia. "Yeah, this is from when we were little. That one's just a copy."

Seto pulls open the map and looks over it. He's never thought there could be- so much  _land_. "Do you know the population at this time?"

Martin takes a few seconds to think. Finally, he says, "Must've been in the billions."

Seto tries to think about that and shudders. He isn't sure what the world population is now, but in all forty-seven districts, there's only almost three million. He isn't sure about the other continents. He can't imagine being so crowded, though. It would be horrible.

The angel rolls the map back up and puts it on the shelf, which had been rearranged when everything had been knocked off the other day. "You can have that one, if you want. We don't have a need for it."

Seto turns to watch Martin go back and grab the rest of his food, stuffing it in his mouth before saying, "You wanna walk around a bit? I have a bit more time before I need to get back to work, so."

"Oh, uh- Yeah, sure." Seto carefully tucks the map at the bottom of the shelf, where he'll remember it. He goes to meet Martin at the door, then stops, glancing down at himself. "Uh, clothes?"

"Hm. Yeah, that's a problem." Martin pulls on his outdoor pants and then grabs his jacket, dropping it on Seto's head. "That'll work."

"I guess." It's practically a dress on him. He bundles it around himself, having to roll up the sleeves several times just so his fingers  _almost_ poke out the ends. He zips it up, then twists his head around. "There are holes in it."

"Here, those zip." Seto can feel the yarn of magic pull at the back zippers, and he shivers, trying his best to ignore the magic. He's honestly kind of scared to try and use it again, so he'd just been avoiding it. 

"Do you want one of the runes-"

"No, I'm fine," he says quickly, tugging the collar closer to his neck and shoving the door open. He misses whatever look Martin gives him, because suddenly there's light and god damn it's  _bright_. Flinching, he pulls his hand to his eyes, blindly stepping a few feet away from the house. He hears Martin follow and shut the door behind them. Finally, after standing there like an idiot, Seto pulls his hand away, squinting in pain.

"Are you sure, Seto? It's- really no big deal, just a few minutes won't hurt you."

"I have to get used to this sometime," he replies, looking around. "Might as well be now."

Martin hums and goes past him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Right."

Seto finally opens his eyes fully, glancing around. In the daylight, everything looks fake. Dew drops are clinging to everything, making things look like candy or ice. Martin brushes past a row of flowers and Seto steps to the left, following him. The garden - if it could be called that - doesn't have any stone paths, but there are trails cutting through the foliage. Seto guesses the brothers probably don't have much time to garden. "The front yard is basically like a fucking jungle," he comments, stepping over a wilting flower as big as his head.

Martin pauses and looks around, then sighs and says, "Nitram usually takes care of it. I guess he didn't when I was on the Ground."

Seto tries to think about what Nitram had done when Martin had crashlanded.

The thought of the angel letting everything fall into disrepair actually unnerves him; Seto quickly derails himself from the thought topic. He doesn't want to know if, or how, Nitram had mourned.

Martin looks lost for a moment as if he'd strayed to the same line of thought. He quickly shakes his head and steps over a rock, saying, "If you're really bored, Seto, you could go ahead and fix things up. Not sure if you're into gardening or not."

"Oh, uh. I used to. Haven't really gotten the time, lately, but yeah." He pokes at a leaf with his foot. "I could give it a shot."

The large plantlife starts to dwindle as they walk, following another path that cuts in front of where the trees start. A small stream appears on their left, curving through the first few trees, before cutting around and disappearing. They round the same corner and a watermill crops into view, nestled in the trees. Seto stares at it for a moment, vaguely remembering passing it when he'd been fever-ridden. He shivers at the memory and glances away. "What's that for?"

"Generates electricity." Martin passes a hand over runes on the side of the building. They glow light blue and pale yellow under his touch. "Through magic, mostly. Nitram set this up; ask him if you're really curious, but I don't really deal all that much with this."

Martin continues on, but Seto pauses at the wall with the sigils. After a moment, he runs a finger over one of them, eyes growing wide when it glimmers, shining beneath his hand. He quickly hurries away, jogging to catch up to the angel. They seem to be heading towards the edge, for some reason. Seto stops a good ten feet away, causing Martin to turn around and give him a strange look. 

"Are you coming?"

"Uh. I don't- Really have wings?"

Martin blinks at that, face twisting strangely for a moment. Then he shakes his head and gestures behind him. "There are stairs. I was going to go check on Nitram at the smith, but if you want to wander around her a bit more, be my guest. Just be careful of the edge."

"Oh, uh." Seto stands there and watches him go to the edge, and step down. He goes down a few more steps, then is below the edge of the island. 

The wind howls, whipping across the top of the island, catching the plants and making them bow like waves on the ocean. Seto looks back towards the lip of the island and hesitantly moves forward, inching closer. Eventually, he kneels down and peeks over the edge. 

True to Martin's word, there's a set of stairs leading down, hugging the curve of the island. Farther below is another island, this one much smaller, without as many trees. A building is built onto one half of the island, spilling over and down, embedded into the side as well. Seto squints against the sun, ears picking up the familiar  _clang-clang-clang_ of metal striking metal. Nitram is nowhere to be seen; Seto guesses he's either inside or on the other side of the building. He sees Martin passing over a rope bridge, casual and nearly relaxed despite the swinging of the bridge and the very thin ropes acting as handrails.

After a moment's thought, Seto sighs through his nose and slowly inches himself over the edge. Thankfully, there is a handrail to the stairs, carved from stone like the actual steps. He hugs the side of the island trembling, and he sits down on the first step, wincing heavily at the pains. Slowly, he slides down the edge, and then down the next step.

To his right, he hears laughter. Nearly jumping out of his skin, he looks over to find Martin watching him. The angel holds up a hand, as if to apologize for laughing, then sits down on a bench outside the building. Seto scowls at him and continues down. Eventually, when the curve grows too sharp, he stands, gripping onto the handrail and promising himself not to look over the edge.

Inevitably, he does, and he sees the ocean far, far below him. His gut threatens to tip itself over and with a whimper, he presses back to the wall. He wants to keep going, actually make it to the other island, but- That's a  _long_ way down. Sure, Martin would probably catch him if he fell, but he doesn't want to even tempt fate. 

So he stands there, trembling against the wall, staring over at Martin. The angel raises an eyebrow, then turns and sends out a sharp whistle. A moment passes and Seto realizes the clanging has stopped. Nitram comes around the corner of the building, stopping and talking to Martin. The other angel points and Nitram looks over at Seto and laughs.

"Are you stuck?" Martin calls, humor just on the edge of his tone. Seto glares at him, slowly peeling himself away from the wall. He takes another few steps forward, but then the stairs curve, and he goes inside the island. He glances around at the small cave, following it, and then there's the bridge. Nitram, bless him, is already halfway across, one hand settled on the rope rail. Then Seto reels back with a start, noticing that Nitram is wingless. "Wait, if you fall-"

"Then Martin is strong enough to carry me," Nitram says, and offers a hand to Seto once he's close enough.

Seto, to his credit, manages to only slightly cling to Nitram as they pass over the bridge. It  _swings_ when they walk, shivering back and forth like some fish on land. The moment he's on the other island, he hurries away from the edge, wanting to smack Martin for just sitting there and watching. "Thanks for the help."

Martin shrugs. He stands and stretches, mumbling something to himself. He waves Seto inside, but Nitram stops him and they have a short conversation in one of the Above languages. Nitram gets the last word in and goes back around the building. Sighing, Martin shakes his head and says, "Alright, Seto, come on."

They don't go through the smaller side door, but head around to the front of the small island. A strange elevator-type machine is hanging off the edge of the island, a dozen feet in the air. A small walkway goes out to where it would come down. Then a strange oval-shaped...  _thing_ is at the edge of the island, a small panel beside it. "The shop's closed right now," Martin says, noticing him looking, "We don't have to worry about anybody coming through the warp."

"That's a teleporter?" Seto asks, looking over to Martin. "Like, you step through it and it takes you places?"

"Well, I mean, the magic's a bit more complicated than that," Martin says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ours only connects to a few different places. It's not a very up-to-date one."

"Jesus," Seto mutters, and glances towards the shop. The front door looks heavy, hand-carved, with a sign Seto can't read hanging above it. The windows are tinted dark, with thin bars running criss-cross through them. The building is reminiscent of the house, looking more like a log cabin than any shop Seto has seen. Martin unlocks the door with a press of his hand to the sigil above the doorknob, then shoves it open. He grimaces at the dust covering almost everything. 

Seto follows him inside, glancing around. It looks like it hadn't been touched in months, but beneath the layer of mistreatment, it's clear the brothers had kept it clean and tidy. There's a front desk, with a couple of chairs sitting in front of it and one behind it, as well as several bookshelves. A few books are out on the desk and, curious, Seto goes over to them. The dim lighting doesn't bother him, and it's then he realizes it's quite dark inside, yet he can still see clearly. Shaking his head, he flips one of the books open, the plastic outside crinkling from the movement. Inside are different types of wings, drawn out and detailed with numbers and information he can't read. He skims through the pages, catching a glimpse of a set somewhat familiar.

"You sell your battle set?" he asks, turning to Maritn, who has since started clearing the dust away. The angel glances up from the broom in his hands, towards the book. "A model that was inspired by it, yes. Of course, mine are- were- different, but you know." He waves a hand in the air and goes back to sweeping. "You can take a look around if you want, Seto. Nitram didn't keep up with this while I was gone." Then, under his breath, he growls, "So it lands on  _me_ to clean it, despite it being his fault."

Seto decides to ignore Martin's complaining and grabs for another book, finding different types of metals listed, different wires and coils, gears, anything he could think of that would go into making a set. "Who usually buys from you guys?"

"Most of the west. Well. Our wing designs are made in the factories, but still. We're one of- I think it's three, by now. One of three wingsmiths."

"Damn," Seto whistles, and wanders over to a board behind the desk. There are drawn designs pinned up on the corkboard, sticky-notes and reminders taped to its sides. It seems fairly well-organized, but still holds the air of abandonment on it. "So did Nitram not, like, get any work done?"

Martin's sweeping pauses for a second. Seto turns to find him looking like he's about to say something, but then Martin shrugs and brushes the question off with a wave. "We have shit to catch up on, but he closed the shop, so we're just behind on previous projects."

"Oh," Seto says intelligently. He glances around again. "Do you have any lights in here?"

"Yeah, give me a second." Martin sweeps the dirt into the tray and goes for one of the two doors on either side of the desk. Seto gets a glance of a closet, and then Martin flips the lights on. The sudden flood of light has Seto flinching back, covering his eyes. Up until then, he'd managed to mostly ignore his ribs, but the sudden movement has him doubling over and holding his sides, gasping.

"Are you okay?" Martin calls, shifting something around in the closet before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

"Um-" Lying nearly got him killed last time. He doesn't feel like nearly dying again. "My sides really hurt."

"Like, hurt how? Any bruises or injuries, or-"

Once the pain subsides, Seto straights up, tugging up one side of his shirt. "No," he says, then starts rethinking that when he notices something strange. Frowning, he runs a hand over his ribs, feeling the weird bumps below where his ribcage ends. He digs his fingers in, hissing at the pain. It's like- It's like there are bones, or  _something_ , there. "This- Isn't right."

Martin kneels down to look, and after a moment, he says, "How many ribs do humans have?"

"Uh. I don't know?" He never took an anatomy class. After a moment, he runs his hands over the bumps again, pressing on them, and a fear starts trickling into his gut. "How many do  _angels_ have?"

Martin glances up at him, and Seto can tell they're on the same track of thought. The angel stands and says, "Here, come here," and goes to the other door. Seto follows him through, glancing around the workshop. Despite the situation, he has to pause to gape. 

Wings hang from moveable hooks on the ceiling, attached to tracks. Along the edges of the room are tables with labeled drawers below it. Tools hang on the walls, along with feathers, parts for different wings, and several things Seto can't begin to figure out. Sigils are drawn onto most of the walls, even some on the ceiling. Martin goes to the very back of the large room, passing into an open door. Seto, still looking around, hesitantly follows him. 

"Watch your eyes," Martin warns, turning the lights on. He goes to one side of the room, looking through a shelf. Seto glances around, eyes growing wide at the finished wings. Unlike the workroom, these are all only one or two sizes, hung up on hooks, with padding separating each set. Seto reaches for one of the feathers, a bright fire-orange, as if to match Martin's eyes.

"Hey," Martin's sharp call stops him from even grazing the cold metal. "Don't touch those."

"I-" Seto glances at them one last time, then goes over to Martin. "Sorry."

Martin goes back to the book he's flipping through. After a moment, he stops, and then shows Seto.

It's an anatomy book, Seto realizes, glancing across the male and female diagrams. Two hearts, a too-long ribcage, large lungs, no actual digestive track. He takes the book from Martin and studies the diagram, then glances at the other page that details the ports for wings. He does a quick count and horror settles in his gut. Angels have  _thirty-six_  ribs, total. 

He reaches down and feels the bumps below where his normal ribcage ends. "Martin, what's- I think-"

Martin takes the book from him and sets it down on a desk. He's silent for a moment, then asks, "How tall are you?"

"5'7". I stopped growing a year ago. Um, I'm not sure what it is in metric, sorry." Seto feels somewhat sick to his stomach, remembering the pains in his legs. He glances around for a tape measure or something, but Martin's already grabbing one from a drawer.

Holding the end of it down with his foot, Martin pulls the measure up and hesitates. "You're- Two inches taller."

Seto glances up sharply to where Martin's thumb is pressed to one of the lines. He takes a step back, rubbing his temple. "I'm- I'm fucking growing, aren't I? I'm- I'm becoming a-"

"Hey, Martin," Nitram calls. "Where did you go?"

Martin gives Seto a worried look, then moves to go to the door. Nitram beats him there, holding out some sort of hooked tool. "We need to get back to work. I am sorry, Seto, but we need to make sure nobody will run under us or anything."

"Yeah, I'll- I'll go back." He twists the edge of the jacket Martin gave him. Nitram gives him a strange look as he quickly passes by. On his way out, Seto catches Martin saying, "We need to talk."

But then he's out in the reception room, then through the front door, around the back of the house, and hurrying as fast as he can across the bridge. He ignores the aching of his legs and torso, scaling the steps quickly. At one point, he's rushing up them on all fours. 

Seto tumbles onto the grass, reaching up to rub at his eyes. This- This is a nightmare. He doesn't want this. He can't be- 

Scrubbing water from his cheeks, he bursts into movement, scrambling to his feet and running for the trees. He isn't sure where he's going, doesn't even really care, but he runs. 

He runs, breezing through the forest, snapping branches and trampling innocent plants in his way. Leaping over a creek, the pain flares and he stumbles, slamming into a tree. Seto leans against it for a long time, gasping, and then he reaches behind his back and feels for the sigil. The scar is a familiar feeling, but he winces at the burn. Everything is hurting, he decides, sliding down the tree and onto the ground. Everything hurts, and he's growing into something he doesn't want to be, and he's miserable. He wants to go home.

Knowing it's useless, Seto grabs his phone from his pants pocket, turning it on and opening it to the home screen. He glances over the message app, then instead goes to the pictures. He doesn't have very many of actual people; he had liked to keep reaction pictures on hand, so those mainly make up his storage space. After a moment of deciding, he sighs and starts to delete any he doesn't need. 

The methodical pace of it calms him, somewhat, and by the time he's cleared out his pictures, he isn't panicking.

Turning the phone off and sticking it back in his pocket, Seto sighs and slowly gets to his feet. After a long moment, he starts limping back to the house. It takes longer than he would like, but the brothers aren't there when he gets back.

Weary, he settles back into the bay window, kicking off his shoes and unzipping the jacket. Giving it a second thought, though, has him laying down, bundling the jacket in front of him so he could hold it. He faces the window, staring outside for a long moment, before shutting his eyes and turning away.

Seto moves onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't want this. 

He doesn't  _want_ this.

He just wants to go home, back to how it had been when he'd been a kid. Back to safety, back to the surety of being okay. But now it's-

Now it's like this.


	5. my blood

A shrill whistle cuts through the quiet of the garden, making Seto flinch. A moment later, another one echoes back. Seto sighs and looks up from the weeds he'd been pulling, trying to listen. Two short whistles pierce the sky, and that's followed by a few more. He glances up quickly because he  _knows_ that Martin is in the house, and Nitram is at the shop.

As he's looking, two angels swing into view from behind a cloud. One's wings are stark white, with red streaked through. The other's is darker, just a plain grey. They come circling around the island and then go down towards the shop.

After sitting there like an idiot for a second, Seto remembers how Martin had easily been able to tell that Adam was a halfie. He gasps and scrambles to his feet, grunting at the aching in almost every part of his body. Martin is already coming out of the house, and he rushes Seto back in. "They're going to find out," Seto says, quietly, panicked, eyes flicking towards the door. 

Martin pauses to listen when another whistle filters into the house. "Nitram's calling me," he says, turning over couch cushions while looking for the charcoal pencil. "Fuck, where did I leave it?"

Seto tears apart his bed, shaking blankets and stuffing his fingers down the sides of it. "Kitchen maybe?" he says, and dashes for the drawers. He opens the one it was originally in, but still can't find it. He yanks out a few more drawers, standing on his toes to see into them. 

Martin's sudden, "Aha!" gets his attention and he glances over to find the angel coming up from the ground by the furnace, pencil in hand. Seto hurries over, offering his arm. Martin hesitates, then shakes his head. "We don't have long sleeves for you, it'll have to be on your back. Try not to move around too much, if it rubs off we're dead."

Seto groans and turns around, wincing as he pulls up his shirt. He can mostly forget about the growing pains, but moving certain ways sets them off. He feels the pencil press into the middle of his back, below the scarring of the original suppressing sigil. The moment Martin closes the sigil and activates it, his senses are swamped, muffled and nearly blinding him. He stumbles, hands going to his eyes and dropping his shirt. "Fuck," he hisses, blinking rapidly and lifting his head to squint around. Everything is darker, duller, and he only distantly hears another whistle. 

"Here," Martin says, getting up and hurrying upstairs. Seto, curious, follows him up, noticing the pain has lessened. He goes to the room Martin had disappeared into and pushes the door open, glancing around. It's rather small, with just a mattress in one corner, and a chest in another. Martin shuffles through the chest and pulls out gray clothes, "Put these on, and then this."

And then he tosses a collar over.

Seto lets it hit him in the leg. He stares down at it, then widely looks up at Martin. "What?"

"You're a human, Seto," Martin says, and looks genuinely sorry when he says, "Up here, uncollared humans can be killed. I still- have to make the fake tags, but-"

His gaze drifts back down to the collar. Really, it's stupid, but he just- The thought horrifies him.

Martin gets up and goes to the door, leaving with only a mumbled, "I'm sorry."

The door is left somewhat behind him, pitching most of the room into darkness. The only light Seto has is from the crack in the doorway, letting a long bar of gold fill in space, shining on where the collar had dropped.

Disgusted with himself, with the angels, Seto bends down and picks it up. It looks like a belt, with a buckle and brown leather. There's a hoop for where tags are meant to go. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets redressed. Before he leaves the room, he tugs the collar around his neck, loose, and slips out of the room.

Seemingly just in time, too, because laughter echoes outside before the front door opens. Seto blinks down at Baki and the new angel, somewhat surprised that Baki would even visit. Sure, he and Martin seemed to know each other, but he wasn't sure if they were friends or not.

"- and then she just fucking slammed into the rock," the new angel says, imitating someone flying with his hand and using the other to be the rock. "I mean, I get she had a lemur on her, but still. How do you miss an entire fucking island?"

"You should have seen Martin a few years ago," Nitram starts, following the two inside, and then turning to grin back at his brother. "He was testing a new set of wings, and-"

"Nitram, I thought we agreed not to talk about this," Martin hisses, shoving his brother to the side. Nitram elbows him back, and continues, "He had forgotten several feathers, for some reason, and just jumped right off the side of the island."

Curious, Seto creeps around the edge of the balcony, catching a better look at the new angel.

His skin is dark brown, with his bare arms covered in tattoos. His hair looks like he's trying to grow it out, making it curly and wild. When he turns, Seto catches sight of the two horrible scars running across the left side of his face. The top one barely misses his eye but cuts across his nose. The other one goes lower and ends just before his nostril. 

His eyes, a bright azure, suddenly flick upwards, meeting Seto's stare. Anger twists his face and he turns to Martin. "You got a new one?"

Martin glances up at Seto, then back to the angel. He says, easily, "It's untrained, but yes. Try to be patient with it, Simon, it was recently injured."

Simon raises an eyebrow and looks back up to Seto. He quickly ducks his head and glances away, Nitram's old words echoing in his head.

_You are going to have to try to blend in better._

Conversation resumes in a language he can't understand. Unsure of what to do, Seto sits up at the top of the stairs, in the dark, trying to listen to them. The smell of food wafts up and he holds his stomach when it growls. It's around dinner time and he had been too busy in the garden to eat lunch. He's starving, but at the same time, he isn't sure if going down there to get anything would be a good idea. He isn't sure what an Above human would do.

Probably wait. Probably starve. He has a feeling that angels would be the only way they get food. 

Suddenly, a spark of light catches his eye. He leans over to peer through the rail, watching as Simon lights a cigarette. Baki slaps him on the arm and Nitram barks, "You know not to smoke in my house, why do you-"

"Jesus, it's just one," Simon gripes, and nudges Baki when he tries to take it from his hand. There's a short wrestling match, which ends up with them on the floor, and Baki sitting on top of Simon.

"Keep it in the bedroom," Martin grumbles into his drink, sitting across the table from the two. Seto can't see Nitram from here, so he must be cooking. 

After weighing his choices for another minute, Seto slowly starts going down the stairs, staying close to the wall so they won't creak. He reaches the bottom and stands there for a moment, then goes for the door. He makes sure not to glance at any of them.

"Where did you even get it from?" Simon asks and Seto pauses, freezing up. "It's a bit pale to be from any of the breeders nearby."

"Oh, it's- An old friend wanted to get rid of it," Martin says, waving his hand. Seto sees the motion out of the corner of his eye. "It was free, but-"

"It's better to just get one from an actual breeder. You know, I heard Junys has a new generation of them, with blue eyes. They're a bit grey, still, but it's better than the lack of it." Simon takes a drag and exhales. Seto wrinkles his nose at the smell. Slowly, he starts for the door again, intent on staying outside for a while. 

"That's where I got Jin," Baki says, pouring more wine into his cup. "From one of Junys' lines. Jin cost a pretty penny, but I won't lie. It does its job, listens well. Its tongue was cut out at birth, so noise isn't ever an issue."

Seto's stomach curdles and he gags, eyes going wide. He casts a sharp glance over to Baki and thinks of Jin, of the silent human in the hospital with the terrified expression whenever Seto had talked. Shaking like a leaf, Seto turns and rushes the rest of the way outside, where he collapses to the ground gagging.

A  _baby_. They cut babies'  _tongues_ out. 

He might actually be sick.

Seto kneels on the ground, fighting bile, hand pressing to his stomach. He coughs and drags in a shaking breath. The door creaks open. He glances over to find Nitram stepping outside as well, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He meets Seto's look but quickly averts his eyes. 

There's a moment of silence, then Nitram quietly says, "I am- Sorry about that, Seto-"

"Children," Seto whispers, " _Kids_. They- They torture those poor-"

"I know," Nitram whispers, and rubs his arms, head turning away. "I know."

"Is there not- Anything anyone can do? You and Martin obviously don't share those views, are there others?" He gets to his feet, throwing his hands out. "This has to- This has to stop, we can't just let people do that to babies."

"Seto, Seto calm down," Nitram murmurs, "They might hear you."

That clicks his mouth shut. He swallows and paces a few feet away, breathing heavily through his nose. He rubs over his face, then brings his hands up behind his neck. The stretch is painful for his growing ribs. After a long second, he groans and puts his hand over his face, walking a few more steps away. "How could anyone  _do_ that? Like- WHat kind of fucking monster..."

"I-" Nitram glances to the side, then back towards the house. He remains silent, unable to give an answer. The two of them stand there for a long moment, then Nitram sighs and says, "I have to go back inside. If you want to stay out here, that's fine. There's an extra coat in the shop if you need it."

"Thanks," Seto mutters, dropping his hands to his sides. He hears Nitram go back inside, but doesn't look. 

He takes another moment to gather himself, then he quickly goes for the path to the shop. His breath fogs the air around his head as he moves, a shiver settling into his bones. It's freezing in Above. He hadn't expected it to be warm, but it's actually  _freezing_. Seto glances to his left to look at the leaves on the trees, finding ice coating most of it. 

Nothing is dead, though, for some reason. It freezes and chills every night, but so far he hasn't seen any plants or trees wilt with the telltale signs of winter. Everything remains eternally green, immortal and beautiful.

Seto pauses in his treck, stopping at a low-hanging branch. Tentatively, he reaches up, grabbing one of the ice-coated leaves, and pulling it down. The ice melts where he touches it, but beneath that is a fresh leaf, wet as if it had rained, but a deep, healthy green. He flips it over, running a thumb over the veins. After a moment, he sighs and drops it to the ground, and continues to the shop.

He gets to the edge of the island and hesitates. Seto crouches down and inches towards the ledge, squinting down at the drop. The island is right where it was; tethered to the mainland by heavy chains that are all about as big as he is. He glares down at the rope bridge, then sighs and puts his feet over the edge, planting them on the stairs. He starts scooting down again, but eventually stands up. 

Staying close to the wall, Seto comes to the little loop of a cave and sits down. The rope bridge swings gently, taunting him, but he makes no move to cross it. 

Seto glances up, scooting slightly closer to the bridge so he could look up at the sky. At his angle, he can't see the moon, but the stars are enough. Disappointment settles in his gut when he remembers that he still has the sigil drawn on his back.

He's not stupid enough to rub it off while Simon and Baki are here, so he remains with his less-than-stellar eyesight and stargazes for a few minutes. It's quiet, and for a moment, he feels alright. Things are shit, but this moment is okay, a standalone against everything else.

Seto mentally traces out a few animal constellations, tapping his fingers on the rock below him. He'd wanted to discover things, send out satellites and see when and where and how things out there happen. Martin's old words echo in his head and he glances away from the sky, down to the ground. On the horizon, he sees an island and wonders if it's his. Probably not.

He sighs and starts to get up, rubbing his eyes. After a long moment, he decides that facing the houseful of angels is probably easier than crossing the bridge. Muttering to himself about angels being unnecessarily dangerous, he starts back up the steps. When he reaches the top, he gives one more glance up to the stars before clambering onto the grass.

Only for someone to grab his wrist and yank him to his feet. Seto yelps, instinctively struggling. He looks up to find Simon there and he freezes, terror locking his joints. 

Simon glares down at him, blue eyes glowing eerily in the night. He holds Seto's wrist above his head so that only his toes can touch the ground. Seto, unable to look away, meets his gaze. He tries to tug his arm away, but Simon's grip only tightens. He hisses, other hand going up to try and pry his fingers away. 

"So, Baki let me in on a little thing," Simon says, quietly, and when Seto feels the urge to scream building, the angel puts a hand around his neck. He doesn't squeeze, but it's a warning. "About you. About my- dear friend Martin."

Simon pauses, seeming to think of his next few words. Slowly, he paces towards the edge, and then Seto's feet are hanging off over the ocean. He kicks and gasps, reaching up to hold onto Simon's arm and silently praying that he'll live to see the morning. 

"Something about a sigil, something about horns." And like that, Simon twists him around, tugs up the back of his shirt, and pauses. Seto writhes, finally kicking out. He manages to catch Simon in the gut and the angel takes a slight step back, sighing. Suddenly, Seto is falling.

His scream is cut off when he hits the ground, just a few feet below him. Seto doesn't wait for Simon to change his mind; he scrambles up and bolts for it, only glancing back once to see the frigid blue glow of eyes following his retreat. The front door opens before he reaches it and Martin is there, orange eyes blazing. Seto darts past him and cowers by the door, glancing back to find Simon staring evenly at Martin.

There's a lull of silence, then Simon sighs through his nose and closes his eyes, shaking his head. Martin's mouth opens, works for something to say, but the other beats him to it. "If you've decided to take care of a halfie," the word is spit with disgust, "then it's not my business. Do what you want, Martin. I've covered your ass plenty of times before. But I- I'm not doing this any longer. If you go down, I'm not sinking with you."

Footsteps approach and Seto turns to find Nitram and Baki there. The doctor slides past him and Martin and goes to stand between the house and Simon. He glances back and forth, then looks at Martin. "He doesn't know everything, Martin." It almost sounds like a plead.

"You two aren't welcome here," Martin growls, and Seto watches glowing magic froth in his mouth. "Leave."

Another hesitant silence, then Baki nods once and goes to Simon. They exchange a few words, then with one more glance cast backward by Baki, the two leap off of the island's edge. The glint of their wings flashes once, then they're lost in the clouds.

[...]

The man looking back at him in the mirror is not one he knows.

Seto's leans heavily on the sink, dragging his gaze up and down the pane of glass. It's still steamed from the shower he'd taken, but even through that, he can see his unnatural eyes.

He'd been expecting color. Maybe pink, like his brother, or at least something to deal with how he'd made the fireplace blaze and everything rattle. But the eyes staring back at him are ones from horror movies; the iris is entirely white, blending in with the rest of his eyes. Only his pupils have remained normal. The sight of the two black pinpricks darting back in forth is enough to make his stomach curdle. 

He swallows and stands on his toes to look over his torso. There's a scar from the bullet, a leathery circle on his side. He runs a thumb over it, then goes to gently press at his ribs. Seto tries to find where his human ribs had ended, and after a minute of difficulty manages to do so. Then he trails his hand down, fingers pressing into the dips between bones. He counts an extra five ribs. Checking the other side, he gets the same number.

Stepping away from the mirror, Seto straightens his shoulders, dropping to the flats of his feet. Martin had measured him again a few days ago, and he'd been an extra three inches taller. His torso is probably what is growing, but he can't... really tell. He knows his hands are definitely bigger, now. 

Seto glances down at them, looking at unfamiliar fingers, and wrinkles that weren't there before. Curling them into fists, he glances back at the mirror. His hair needs to be cut again. He'd always kept it somewhat long, but now it's halfway down his neck, naturally curling like it did before he had cut it when he'd started transitioning.

After a long moment, he reaches up and starts parting his hair, looking for any sign of horns. He knows for a fact they must be taboo, or something of the like, because Martin and Nitram cut theirs down. Baki didn't have any and neither did Simon. It must be a cultural thing, or-

Or Martin and Nitram are lying.

Seto bites his lip and wonders what he'd gotten himself into. It seems that the twins already have enough loaded onto their plates; he doubts adding him to the heap is helping anything.

"I'm leaving soon," he whispers to the mirror, to the stranger staring at him. "Then things will return to normal."

He knows nothing will go back to how it was. People on the Ground would now about the two brothers who took an angel in, only for one to get brainwashed and kidnapped. He knows he won't be able to go back there, not without consequences. 

Sighing, he runs a hand over his face, one hand dropping and the other going to scratch at the scruff growing. He needs to shave, too, damn it. Just another thing to add on to the stress of living up here. He glances across the sink but doesn't feel like prying around to try and find a clean razor. 

With a groan, Seto steps down off the stool and grabs the towel to scrub his hair one last time. He yanks on pants and a shirt, wishing he'd be able to find comfort in his old clothes. But he's already outgrown those and he doesn't want to accidentally rip them. Nitram was nice enough to make him new ones, at least.

Gathering his dirty clothes and the towel into a bundle, he turns and flicks the light switch off before grabbing the door handle.

And he stops.

The door is illuminated by a soft glow. Seto glances up and down it, watching the light travel with his eyes. After a long, fearful moment, he glances one last time towards the mirror. Two glowing white orbs stare back, blinking when he does. He looks from one eye to the other, watching them twitch, then he turns away sharply and reaches up to scrub the tears forming. 

"I'm alright," he lies to himself, and quickly leaves the bathroom. 

Nitram and Martin are at the table, talking quietly. They glance over at him when he enters the room. For a long moment, none of them say anything. Seto sucks in a breath, then goes for the stairs. Once he reaches the washing machine, their conversation resumes. Seto pauses in his movements to listen better, catching Baki's name. The twins don't seem to be arguing, for once. Maybe they're on the same page about what had happened.

"You were not careful enough," Nitram says, and Martin sighs.

"I know. I paid him well, I didn't think he would talk. He's kept enough secrets for us before, he already knew about where we're from."

"Simon  _is_ his husband. No wonder he talked." Nitram pauses and there's the sound of a clinking glass. Seto wonders if this conversation is a good one to be drinking in. "But Simon is military. I am worried, Martin."

"Do you think he would-?"

"I don't know." The bottleneck taps another glass and they are both silent for a long moment. Then, Martin continues, "Should we go?"

"To where? There's only so many places we can go and survive, and not be wondered about. And then there's-" A pause. Seto can hear the shifting of the chair. "Then there is Seto. What of him? We cannot just- Take him with us, Martin, he needs to go home."

"Nitram, I- I want to take him home. I do. But you know as well as I do, that if this gets to to other angels,  _everybody_ will be after him. The humans on the ground, the angels, everybody. His dad can't just- Save his ass, either. I doubt he'd do that at all."

Seto shoves his laundry into the washing machine and goes for the basket he'd been tossing his other dirty clothes in.

"And his dad is Brian? Are you  _sure_?"

"Here, let me get-" The chair scrapes against the floor. A door opens, then a moment later it closes and Martin sits down again. "Look. This is all I managed to grab before we left, I didn't have much time to pack. My notes and the translations are all in here."

Seto hears pages flip, flip, flip, and then Nitram sighs quietly. "God damn."

A moment later, "Who's Lynell?"

"The kid's deadname, don't-"

"I understand." A few more moments of silence. Seto checks the pockets of his laundry, as an old habit, and then pushes them into the machine. He fills the soap and quietly closes the lid, starting it. 

Using the rumbling of the machine as cover, he quietly slides over to the railing, sitting down and glaring down at the two angels at the table. Martin refills his brother's drink, then his own. Nitram absentmindedly grabs it, still reading through the translation of the journal. "Who wrote this?" he asks.

"His mom. Brian left a note, here." Martin takes the book and grabs a slip of paper from the very back. Seto squints down at it, but even with his enhanced sight he can't read the words from where he's at.

Somewhat bothered to be the main subject of the conversation without actually being there, he stands to get up.

Then Nitram says, "Nathaniel controls the military. If Simon talks, it'll reach him, and then Brian. We- We are in danger, Martin, we have to do something."

Seto stumbles back, slamming his hands over his ears. He ignores the rest of the conversation and sits down, mentally repeating the name over again. 

Nathaniel.

_"Mom, please, he's injured!" Jordan struggles with holding the angel up. Seto warily stands next to his brother, arms above his head, one hand being held up in his._

_Their mom looks from them to the angel, terror wide in her eyes. She reaches first for Seto and grabs him, pulling him to her leg. When she reaches for Jordan, though, he backs up as much as he can without throwing the angel off balance. "He needs help, mom!"_

_"Please," Seto begs, tugging on her shirt, and glancing at the blue blood covering Jordan and also his own arms. "Please, mom. They can't all be bad."_

_She stares at the angel for a long, long time, then quietly says, "Jordan, lay him down. You and Seto go wash off, okay?"_

_Jordan moves to let him down, but the angel takes one wobbly step and crumples. Seto's mom moves quickly, surprisingly able to catch him and lower him to the ground. The angel gurgles something, coughing blue. He raises a hand as if to grab at something, but the rest of him remains limp._

_Seto hurries to Jordan's side, staring down at the angel with wide eyes. He only has one wing on; the other was back at his crash sight, but the two brothers hadn't been able to drag it and the angel back. "Go, boys," she says, turning to give them a sharp grey-eyed glare. "And we will discuss this later."_

_Gulping, Seto scrambles to the bathroom, wanting to wash off first. He scrubs his arms, dismayed to find that blue stains skin, apparently. Jordan shoves him aside to reach the sink, but he'll have to change clothes. Seto didn't get any on them._

_Quietly padding back to the living room, Seto stops when he hears voices._

_"Kerberos. It's g- It is- A pl-pleasure to finall-finally meet you." The angel releases a gurgling cackle, then heaves and coughs. "I can- ca-can see why my- Brother was- so taken with you."_

_"You will not speak of that, Nathaniel," Kerberos hisses, and Seto stares, wide-eyed, at his mom. He'd never heard her so **angry**. He clings to the doorway to the living room and watches. "That is between me and him. Where are you injured?"_

_"Mas-Masikae- And I, duel. Lightning- It's- a storm." Nathaniel hacks again and rolls onto his side, working wing smacking into the ceiling. He coughs up blood and then almost pitches forward into it. "Those- boys of y- yours-"_

_Kerberos reaches over and grabs the angel's shoulder, slamming him to the ground. He groans and reaches up to try to strangle her, but she grabs his hand and twists his fingers back until he hisses. Grabbing his ear as well, she spits, "You will do no harm to my family. If you lay so much as one finger on my children, I will **kill** you."_

_There's a long moment where Nathaniel peels open his acidic yellow eyes. Finally, he gives her a sharp little smile, and says, "No h-harm- will- come to your kids."_

_Satisfied, she lets go of his ear and drops his hand. "I'll be back," she says and goes to the kitchen. She comes back with a bag, slinging it down on the ground next to him. "Now, hold still."_

_"I- feel- so sorrry- for you," Nathaniel barks, laughing, and blood splatters. He laughs, and then goes into a coughing fit. "Wh-what a- burden."_

_"Do not speak of my children like that," she says, and slaps him on the face. He winces and raises his working arm to feel his cheek. "D-damn, woman."_

_"I said, hold still." She shoves his arm back down and starts drawing a knife down his shirt. "Once you are well enough, you will leave, and never say a damn word to your brother, or to anyone else. Do you understand?"_

_"I- don't t-take orders fr-from-"_

_"I could kill you," she says, quietly and presses the knife beneath his chin. Nathaniel falls still, twitching in anger. "I could kill you now, and nobody would ever know what happened to you. They would assume Masikae killed you, and she would get all of your property, and you will forever be known as the General who was defeated so easily."_

_"N-nobody can- can defeat me," he growls but stays still._

_Kerberos slowly brings the knife from his throat and goes back to cutting his shirt the rest of the way open. After a moment of looking over his wounds, she seems to collect herself and reaches for the bag again. Seto swallows, eyes growing wide at the sight of the angel's chest. He trembles, bottom lip wobbling. After a moment of shaking in the doorway, he quietly turns and hurries to Jordan tackling his brother in a hug. Jordan makes a noise of discomfort, but pats his back, and then pushes him away. "What's going on?"_

_"Mom's healing him," Seto whispers back and follows his older brother back to the living room. Jordan glances in, then covers Seto's eyes quickly. "Here, let's give her space," he says and guides Seto back to their room. "She doesn't need us getting in the way."  
_

_"But Mom-"_

_"No, Seto," Jordan hisses, "Just- Not right now."_

 "Seto?"

He jolts away from the outstretched hand, screaming in surprise. He stares up at Martin with wide, terrified eyes, and he chokes out, "Nathaniel. That was his name."

Martin blinks at him, trying to piece together what Seto said. After a moment, realization and horror dawn on his face. He kneels down and holds out a hand, but otherwise says nothing. Seto takes it and lets the angel haul him to his feet.

He stumbles away a few feet, rubbing his eyes. When Martin reaches out to him, he shrugs his hand away and hurries down the stairs. He blunders past Nitram and shoves his way outside, and without a second thought takes off running.

Realistically, he wouldn't be able to run forever. His ribs hurt, his legs hurt, and the island comes to an abrupt halt somewhere. But he runs, and runs, and doesn't stop, until he breaks through the trees and the big field yawns open before him. 

Stumbling to a halt, Seto glares out at the beautiful field, eyes dancing around, catching sight of a few glowing bugs floating gently on the wind. They aren't lightning bugs, as they glow a constant, soft purple. It blends well with the pale cream glow of the field. He wanders, the plan on running away dwindling. He's been running too much. He used to do it back when he was a kid, whenever he was upset. He thought he had grown out of the habit.

He doesn't get far into the field before there's a shout behind him. He turns, glaring hard at Martin, who slows to a halt maybe twenty feet from him. 

"It was Nathaniel?" Martin whispers after a moment, "Are you sure?"

Seto glances away, then nods sharply. When Martin doesn't say anything to that, he looks back to find the angel staring up at the sky. A long moment passes, then Martin nods to himself, and rubs at his face, and says, "Okay. I can- I can work with that."

"What does that mean?" Seto hisses. "He killed Mom, and you just- you say that you can-"

"We've made wings for him. I- I know how those work." QUietly, as if surprised with himself, he says again, "I... know how those work."

He trails off, then looks back to Seto. He looks like he's about to say something, but eventually he just quietly murmurs, "Let's go back inside, Seto. It's cold out."

Seto didn't want to agree, but it  _is_ freezing, making him shiver where he's at. Finally, with a sigh, he goes towards Martin, parting the sea of grass easily. "Okay."


	6. jolt

The next day finds Nitram bustling around the house, gathering documents and papers. Seto doesn't bother to ask him what's going on. He has a feeling he already knows.

Martin, though. He sits at the table, pouring over old books. He has a notepad to his left where he jots down characters Seto doesn't recognize. He ignores Nitram when his brother pushes to see what he's doing, and why he won't help, but Martin easily brushes him off. After a short spat, the two avoid each other. 

Seto, meanwhile, sits by and watches. He's tempted to ask if Nitram needs a hand; it's obvious the angel wants to be in a hurry. But then again, he doesn't want to mess anything up or get in the way. So he makes his home in the bay window, watching the outside world. The Ground is the only thing on his mind, really. He wants to go  _home_. Jordan is probably a wreck. Most likely.

Seto hopes he is. If he isn't, then it means he doesn't care.

The thought has him gripping the hem of his shirt. If Jordan just decides to step away from so many years of them struggling together, then Seto doesn't know what he'd do. Maybe move in with Adam. Maybe pitch himself into the ocean.

He blinks. That thought wasn't one he'd been expecting to have. Sighing to himself, he rubs his eyes. He needs to go home. Being up here is... horrible. It's nothing like the life he'd had down on the Ground. It's terrifying. The thought of people coming to get him, and the twins, keeps niggling at the back of his head. It makes him anxious. Unsettled and twitchy, as if he needs to be ready to run or fight or  _something_ at any moment's notice.

A large clatter from the kitchen catches his attention, dragging him away from his own thoughts. Nitram mumbles a curse and bends down to pick up a small wooden box. He takes it to the growing pile by the couch, then whirls on Martin and snaps something at him in one of the angelic languages.

Martin waves a hand, turns the page on the journal he'd taken from Seto's mom's room and continues with whatever research he's doing. Nitram hisses angrily and stomps over, snatching the notepad right out from under Martin's hand. "The entire Above could be coming after us, and all you care about is-"

He stops. And glances over the notepad again. Seto, curious, stands and wanders over, peering below Nitram's arm to catch a glimpse of the paper. There are several different sigils on it, most of them actually sinister looking. Something deep in him shivers and he shies away, eyes tracing the sharp edges and swooping curves. 

The one Martin had drawn most recently resembles the suppressing sigil on Seto's back. Except it has a diamond, passing through the circle, and Seto recognizes the arrow-like characters of a banishing sigil. He takes a step back, just as Nitram whispers, "Martin, what in the world are you doing?"

Martin stares evenly at Nitram, then gets to his feet and takes the notepad. Nitram lets him, hands dropping to his sides. After a long moment of sharing silent words, Martin says, "Fixing things."

Nitram works for something to say. Seto takes another hesitant step backward, then quietly goes for the door. He doesn't hear what Nitram says.

After a moment of standing there, Seto shakes his head and goes to the garden. The tools are right where he left them and for a few hours, he gets lost in fixing the pathways. Pulling up weeds and overgrown plants, rearranging the rocks separating the garden from the path, clearing any fallen leaves or sticks. Eventually, he moves onto the actual garden. It's easier work, and something he can do mindlessly.

Hacking away with his hands at a particularly overgrown bush, Seto glances up when the door opens. He pulls away but nicks his thumb on a thorn. Hissing, he brings it to his mouth, sucking at the small cut. 

"Careful of those," Nitram says as he passes by. "They are like knives."

"Yeah, I can see," he grumbles and glances down at his thumb, and freezes.

Blue beads out from the cut, dull and nowhere near as vibrant as any other angel's. But it's blue. 

He stares for a long time, brow creasing. Finally, he tears his gaze away, hands shaking as he settles them into the dirt. Nitram is already going down the steps to the other island, not noticing anything wrong.

Sighing, he goes back to snapping overgrown branches off the thornbush. The flowers are fairly pretty, at least. They're a pale pink, struck through with peach and red. The leaves are a dark turquoise. He knows this plant glows at night; he's passed by this one before. 

Eventually satisfied, he moves on from that bush to tend to the rest of the yard. Eventually, the sun peaks in the sky and Nitram passes by again. "I am about to make lunch, are you hungry?" he asks, offering Seto a hand up.

Seto tosses the trowel to the dirt and gets up himself, not really wanting to get dirt all over Nitram's hand. "Yeah, I'll head on in. What are we eating this time?"

"I have a feeling you might like it," Nitram starts, "It is something we ate back- a long time ago."

Seto doesn't miss the slip-up, if that's what it could be called, but he doesn't say anything about it. Nitram continues, mentally stuttering for a moment before he gets back on track. "It's fairly spicy, though, so I am not sure if you will be able to eat it. Humans have- horrible taste, you know."

He thinks about the blue pinpricks on his thumb. He says, "I dunno. I never really ate spicy stuff, but maybe I'll like it?"

They chat as they go back inside, finding that Martin isn't at the table. The books and papers are all gone; Seto feels relieved for some reason. Something about those drawings had him on edge. He's tempted to ask Nitram about them, but the angel seems frazzled enough as it is.

Nitram goes about grabbing things from the fridge. Seto doesn't recognize anything, as usual, but he idly sits by and watches anyway. As Nitram chops up something that looks like an enormous bean sprout, Seto asks, "Where are you guys going to go?"

The chopping halts for a second, then resumes, and Nitram sighs. "I- I do not really know. We can find a place, or just make our own if we really need to. We may be out of practice- It has been so long since we..."

He trails off and glances up, frowning then shaking his head. "You sure have a way of making my guard go down, Seto."

"I mean, I'm not gonna, like, rat on you or anything." Nitram's brow furrows and Seto thinks he mumbles, "Rat...?" but then the angel sighs again through his nose and pushes the chopped vegetable into a bowl and grabs one of the herb pots sitting in the windowsill behind the sink. He shifts through it for a moment, plucking stems and leaves, before finally saying, "Yes, I suppose you already know too much, as it is. Martin was not able to saw his horns down on the Ground, was he?"

"No. And what's with those? Nobody else has them." Seto kicks the stool over to the cabinets and stands on his toes to grab a glass. Then he has to scoot the stool over to the sink. "I kinda assumed it was, like, cultural or whatever, but then what Simon said..."

Nitram glances up at him, then down to the horrible bruises around his wrist. Anger draws his face tight for a second, then he says, clipped, "Yes, what Simon had said."

Seto settles onto the counter, content to sit and watch from there. Hopefully, he isn't in the way. Nitram starts a fire on the stove with a snap of his fingers, putting a pot of water on it. "No, the horns are- Not normal. We have to hide them. There is no other choice."

"You grow them too?"

"Sadly," Nitram mutters. He goes to the freezer and takes out some sort of frozen meat. Putting it under running water to thaw, Nitram goes back to cutting up greens. He seems to want to stop the conversation, so Seto lets all the topics drop. Kicking his feet, careful not to hit the cabinets, he sips from his water and tries to figure out what Nitram is making. 

Martin suddenly comes out of his room, tugging on his jacket. "I need to go out for a bit, Nitram."

"There is going to be food," Nitram protests, turning to glare at his brother. "Can it wait?"

Martin hops across the living room, tugging on his shoes as he goes. "Not really. Don't have much time."

"I doubt that," Nitram mutters, "Considering you are no help with packing."

"I told you not to." He takes the set of wings from where it's hanging by the door. Seto flinches at the harsh clacking and grinding noise of him popping it into the socket. The other one quickly follows. "I have it handled."

"Right." Nitram pours uncooked pasta into the boiling pot. 

"Seto, you want to go with me?"

The question takes both him and Nitram by surprise. While the taller twin turns around and says, "He absolutely will not," Seto stares wide-eyed at Martin.

The angel is fidgeting at the door, foot tapping. "I can bring you, but you'll have to hurry."

"I-" He glances at Nitram, who shakes his head quickly. Seto bites his lip and looks back to Martin, then slowly slides off the counter. He'll be leaving in a few days, anyway. Why not try and get a look at the rest of Above? "Yeah, I'll go."

Martin waves at him, as if to hurry him along. Seto quickly runs up the stairs, getting on a fresh change of clothes from the laundry basket he hasn't folded yet. He grabs the jacket Nitram made him, as well. As he goes back down the stairs, he catches Nitram's glare. The angel looks pretty pissed. Good thing Seto won't be here for that. 

Tugging on his shoes as he goes to the bay window, Seto grabs his phone, and then, after a moment of hesitation, grabs the collar from where he'd stuffed it in the cushions. Nitram's glare turns much, much sharper, and he directs it towards Martin this time. "Martin, this is not-"

"We'll be fine," Martin says, ushering Seto out the door. "Nothing will happen."

Seto calls a goodbye out to Nitram, ducking under Martin's arm and outside. Once out, he clips the collar on loosely. Martin digs through his pocket, then holds out a small disk to him. "Look, I hate it, too, but it's gotta-"

"Yeah." He takes the tag from Martin, glancing over it. There's no name - he hadn't really expected on - but there is an I.D. number. J376824a4. The information on the back is in a language he can't read, but to him, it looks pretty real. "You did fake this, right?"

Martin gives him a strange look and says, "Of course. Now, come on. You will have to ride on the tagalong wings, we don't own a sling."

"Tagalong wings?" Seto follows him to the smithing island, Martin helping him along the bridge. Martin steps up onto the landing pad, where a strange glider-like set of wings sits. The primary feather edges are turned, propping it up along with a few wheeled support beams. It's maybe thirty feet in length, much bigger than Martin's own wings. Seto realizes it's the strange set of wings he had seen Nitram using a while back. "Huh. How am I supposed to ride on those, again?"

Martin goes about attaching the tagalong to his own wings using a few cords. It's not the same one-cord setup Nitram was using. Seto can't figure out why. Satisfied, Martin shuffles towards the tagalong, patting the top of it. There are rails, baskets along the upper and lower side, and he says, "Just choose a basket. Preferably in the middle; it's hard to fly with this when it's unbalanced."

"Oh, uh."

Martin kneels down and opens a panel. Seto ducks to get a good look at it. Martin twists a small lever, then activates a sigil, and suddenly three engines roar to life. One is in the center, and is the biggest, while there's one on each wing. "Go on, get on. It won't burn you; there are fire protection runes on it."

Seto stands there for a moment, then slowly, carefully, clambers on top of it, in the center. Martin laughs at him and pats the wings' shell. "Don't treat it like glass, Seto, this thing has gone through storms with me before. You won't break it."

"Uh- Sure," he says, and glances around. "Seatbelts?"

"There are none." Martin walks towards the left wing, cranking the end of it up. The tagalong wobbles, but the supports beneath it hold steady. Seto leans over to look at the wheels. When Martin raises the other wing off the ground, it rolls slightly. "Just hold on tight, you know? Oh, and here."

Martin tosses a pair of goggles at him. Seto tugs them on, blinking at the darkened sight. Martin takes his wrist to draw on a few different sigils, and his senses suddenly are dialed back down to how they had been. He frowns. 

"Alright, you ready?" Martin glances down the length of the landing pad, and Seto realizes why it's so long.

"Uhm."

"Just hold on." With that, Martin snaps his wings out, feathers stretching, glinting in the sunlight. He takes a few steps, then leaps into the air. The tagalong jolts along with his movements. Seto huddles down and grabs on tight to the railings. Martin stays close to the landing pad, but then they start picking up speed. With a final heavy flap of his wings, he pulls the tagalong off, and they're in the air.

Seto, despite himself, does scream, but it's cut off when Martin turns left. He screams again when he starts sliding and quickly puts his leg against a rail to his side. He hears Martin's barking laughter filter back, and Seto's cheeks go red.

He's never  _flown_ before. Airplanes are a rarity, and most are just carcasses of the past, locked away in old storage spaces to be forgotten about. Only angels can fly. Angels own the skies, own the freedom, and-

As if sensing Seto's bad thought track, Martin suddenly rises higher in the air, and Seto has to forget about thinking so he can hold on.

They enter a cloud and his skin prickles with goosebumps. Water vapor clings to his skin and clothes and he's thankful he has the goggles on. Suddenly, they breach the top of the cloud and level out into a smooth glide. Only then does he dare pry himself from the tagalong.

The world opens up before him, yawning and beautiful. The ocean gleams like gold, shimmering under the sunlight. Seto sits up more, leaning slightly. The wind whips past him, snagging his hair and clothes. He spots a few Ground islands on the horizon, dark shapes against the expanse of churning blue. 

Suddenly, Martin dips in the air. Seto huddles back, glancing up as a few angels pass overhead. They curve around an island, then Martin starts ascending. Seto watches the island pass, getting a good glimpse of farmland with shapes bustling around in the fields. 

His view gets obscured by a cloud, then Martin turns right, curving up and around yet another island. As they pass, Seto can't help but notice that it's heading in the direction of the other one. He turns, concerned, watching as the two grow closer. Martin continues as if nothing is wrong, but they  _are_ getting closer.

"Mart-"

Just as the two islands are about to hit, the smaller one is suddenly swung around, gently circling the farmland island. An angel on the smaller one waves to a couple overseeing the humans on the farms. The islands separate, continuing on their floating path.

Seto sits back, then turns to face forward again as Martin lowers in the air again. Another few angels pass by, followed by a few more.

Suddenly, Martin's wings heave downwards and the rise, up and up, until Seto realizes that the air is actually getting thin. He chances a glance downwards and reels back, jostling the tagalong.

They are  _high_ in the air. 

Seto thinks back to school, back to first learning about the atmosphere, thinks about how the troposphere is 17km off the ground, and thinks about how this shouldn't at all be physically possible.

He gulps and presses himself to the tagalong, glancing up at Martin to find the angel shifting around. His wings are spread out, wide, but still. As they glide, the engines on the tagalong suddenly kick into gear, a high whirring noise blocking out the wind for a moment.

And suddenly, the cords attaching the tagalong and Martin drop. Martin gathers them, wrapping them up and stuffing them into his bag. He pumps his wings and, as Seto drifts, falls back slightly.

"What- Hey, I-" Seto glances around quickly, shaking. He's fine with flying. Really, he is. But this is just gliding now, and he has zero control over where he goes.

Martin says something, but the wind rips it from Seto's ears. Suddenly, the angel grabs two of the bars at the top, flying parallel to the giant set of wings. He guides it to the left, and Seto glances forward to find them slowly descending towards a long runway. He grips tighter to the rail, preparing for the jolt when they hit the ground.

It's- surprisingly soft. There's the initial jerk when the wheels hit, but other than that he wasn't moved around too much. Martin pushes his wings back, slowing them to a halt, and then drops to the ground in front of the tagalong. He quickly shuts the engines off, glancing around. Seto starts to get off, but he holds up a hand. 

Staying put, Seto watches as Martin attaches one cord to the main body of the wings, and starts pulling it along. They go off of the runway and onto an elevator, which lowers them down. There's what looks like a parking lot, but there are only two other tagalongs, both much smaller than Martin's set. He takes it over to the empty space and starts putting the wing edges down. Seto clambers off, earning a glance from the angel. He searches around and, after making sure nobody else is there, straightens and pulls off his goggles. "You'll have to keep quiet, you know. I won't be able to talk to you, either."

"Yeah, I- I understand." He pulls off his goggles and reaches up to tug on the collar, glancing down. He can just barely make out the golden disk. "Anything else I need to know?"

"Don't look at anyone. Not even other- humans." Martin hesitates, then shakes his head. "Just- stick close, don't draw attention, that sort of thing. Keep your head down. Literally."

"Okay. Yeah, I can do that." He shoves his hands in his pockets and glances around, eyeing the castiron fence around the lot and the overgrowth of plants.

"And don't do that. No pockets." Martin waves at him and Seto sighs, dropping his hands to his sides. After a moment, though, he pulls his phone from his front pocket, turning it on. The battery had gone down a few more decimals, so he hurries and takes a few photos of the tagalong wings parked in the lot. Martin gives him a look but doesn't say anything. He turns the phone off when he's done. "I wanna show Adam," he says, "He flipped out because of the selfie; imagine what he'd do if I showed him this."

"I can just get you printed pictures," Martin says, already starting to walk away. 

Seto wants to tell him that it's not the same, but the angel holds up a hand and shakes his head. As they approach the gate to the lot, a pair of angels comes by talking. They say a passing hello to Martin and go to one of the smaller tagalongs, loading a few boxes onto it. Seto watches them out of the corner of his eye, but then Martin leaves the lot and lets the gate slide close behind them. 

Seto glances over the street, finding that it looks a lot like a city he'd once visited if he ignores the odd plants and strange architecture. The stone buildings look as if they'd just been carved from solid rock. Angels pass by on the street, mostly in groups. Martin snaps his fingers and Seto hurries over, ducking his head. They walk for a handful of minutes, Seto trying his best to admire the city before Martin crosses to the other side of the road and pushes open the door of a store. Seto hesitates, for a second wondering if humans were allowed inside before he shakes his head and follows.

The few customers in the shop glance up; one of them says hello, then they go back to their shopping. Seto glances around, finding it to- more or less look like a hardware store. 

"Ah, Martin, there you are. You're late today."

"Nitram tried to keep me home," Martin says, "For lunch, at least. Sorry, Jael."

Jael shifts to stand up to her full height instead of leaning on the counter. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you are. Honestly, I thought you were dead. Nitram didn't come around at all after your duel, and neither did you. I wasn't sure if it ended in a draw or not."

Martin grunts, but doesn't seem to want to tell her anything. "The pickup is ready, right?"

Jael sighs and shoves off the counter. "Yeah, let me get it for you."

She leaves through a back door, muttering something under her breath. She comes back out a minute or two later, carrying two heavy-looking boxes, the smaller on top of the other. Setting them down on the counter, she says, "You've got shit from the last order here, too. Guessing you're making a new fighting set?"

"That was the plan, sadly."

"Damn," she whistles, "How fucked over were you?"

Martin lets out what could have been a chuckle, but says nothing. He unclips a bag from his side. "How much?"

"Eh, 25 this time." She catches the glance of another patron and points. "Don't expect the same treatment, this man nearly died. You want wings or not? He fucking makes them, don't be a bitch."

The angel grumbles but looks away. This does get an actual chuckle out of Martin and he starts rifling through the bag. He pulls out a handful of flat, dark metal discs and hands them to her. She counts them out for a moment, then drops them into the drawer. "Alright, man, see you next time. Try not to let your brother kill you again, huh?"

"He's probably planning on doing it anyway," Martin says and hefts the box up. Holding them in one arm, he waves at her with the other and then they leave the shop.

Seto glances up at Martin, then to the boxes. He hadn't really thought about the fact that Martin would make a new battle set. It just hadn't really occurred to him. He wonders if, outside of fighting each other, Martin and Nitram have to duel a lot of other angels. 

He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice that Martin is taking them back to the tagalong. Seto stops short at the gate and glances around, opening his mouth to ask, but at Martin's quick look, and the realization that the two angels were still there, Seto clicks his mouth shut and follows behind him. 

Martin loads the boxes onto the right wing, strapping them down silently. He kneels down and opens the panel, pressing a few buttons before waiting a moment. A few numbers flash on a small screen and he sighs before standing. Without another word, he starts heading out of the lot again. Seto tags along with him.

This time, they walk for quite a while, going further into the city. The buildings become more detailed, taller, with gardens hanging from porches and sills and rooftops. Seto glances around, wishing he'd be able to take photos. But there are way too many angels swarming the streets. 

Someone bumps into Martin and hisses, a wing rising. Martin growls back and mantles his own wings, subtly ushering Seto around to the side so he wouldn't be between them. The tension lasts for only a second; the other angel decides it's not worth it to pick a fight and continues on, shouldering Martin's glare away.

Martin curses under his breath and hurries on, Seto right on his heels. He stays close but tries not to make it obvious. A quick glance around tells him that, yes, all the angels have their wings on. Most seem perfectly happy, but a few do look somewhat pissed, or maybe that's just their face. Seto can't ask.

A few more minutes of walking has them going into a bookshop. Martin glances around, then goes to one section labeled in a language Seto can't read. He picks through books for a while, flipping through them, before settling on a few different ones. Wordlessly, he takes them to the counter and pulls out his coin bag.

The cashier glances at the books, then up to Martin, then back to them. His brow creases, but he shakes his head and starts ringing them up. When Martin pays, the angel wraps the books in brown paper and says, "I don't what shit you're stuck in, but be careful."

"I'll try," Martin says dryly, grabbing the books and quickly leaving the shop. Seto, curious, glances back at the section Martin had picked from. But they're out the door before he can guess what it was.

They don't go back to the tagalong wings, but keep going. The next shop is another hardware store, but Martin just buys a hammer, sort of like the one he'd used down on the Ground. At Seto's look, he shrugs. When they go back out onto the street, Martin glances around, then hurries on. He keeps glancing up and down the street, then eventually pulls Seto aside, into a small alleyway. "The next shop we go to, Seto, you tell me if anything- catches your eye. Just let me know."

"Uh- okay?" 

Martin nods at him and they continue on their way. THey pause at an intersection and Seto glances to the left to see horses pulling a carriage behind them. Upon second glance, though, the horses are none like he's ever seen in books, or expected to see in real life. They're giant, for one; they tower over all the angels and have four eyes on each side of their heads. The one on the left is a stark grey with white dappling its back, but the other is a pure white. Horns and ridges spiral up from their foreheads, brows, and along their backs and shoulders. Their manes are kept short, tied in rows of braids. Strange enough, there are translucent ropes connecting them to the carriage that glow a soft blue. Seto takes a step back when he realizes that it's just magic tying them down. 

One tosses its head and snorts, temporarily showing off large tusk-like teeth that barely poke out from its upper lip. Martin doesn't seem fazed by the show of teeth and crosses the street once they and the cart pass. Seto watches them go, and notices another couple of horses standing outside of a restaurant, kept occupied with a trough of grain put down before them. 

Realizing he's lagging behind, he quickens his pace to get closer to Martin, ducking his head when a couple of angels glance his way. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a few humans tagging along behind them, silently carrying any items like pack mules. They don't look his way, so he keeps his gaze locked ahead. 

It takes them a bit to get to the store. The closer they get to it, though, the more Seto realizes that they were still on the outskirts of the city. The buildings grow even taller, fancier, draped in ornamental decorations and flags with insignias he doesn't recognize. Martin catches his wandering look, but doesn't say anything. 

Suddenly, the buildings drop away for a moment, giving way to what looks like a park. They stop again to let a few carriages pass, this time toted along by bird-like creatures. They have four legs and brightly-colored wings but are much smaller than the horses. Seto could probably climb on top of one if he tried. 

The gardens sprawl out to either side of them. The street splits so that a water canal can flow past. Boats drift languidly down it, occupied by angels and some humans. A few women titter in laughter and Martin glances over, casting them a grin when he finds them looking over. One of them waves then ducks back beneath her umbrella and a new chorus of laughter follows. Martin catches Seto's look. "What?"

Seto shakes his head, nearly biting back a reply, but stops himself. Martin glances again at the boat of angels but moves on. The scenery grows even more picturesque; old towers and ruins start rising up, overgrown with plants. Seto stops to stare, watching the waterfalls pour down the multi-layered buildings. Martin snaps his fingers and Seto frowns, but catches up with him. 

More and more angels that pass by are wingless, surprisingly. Their clothes are made of a much finer material, and hold themselves as if they're more important. Martin doesn't bother with any of them but stops suddenly when he hears shouting.

Having no choice but to also stop, Seto looks in the direction of the noise. He blinks in surprise, finding two angels fighting with each other. A few are trying to break it up, but blood has already been drawn on both sides. When another interceptor gets sliced with a wingblade, most of them back off and let the two fight. 

The woman in the fight staggers backward, wiping some cerulean blood from her eyes before launching herself into the air, wings spreading wide in a silent challenge. The other, a younger boy, snarls and leaps after her. She spins gracefully, and then a whip of water comes lashing up from a nearby canal. It catches him in the foot and slams him back into the ground, where she lands on top of him and sticks a blade to the back of his neck. She hisses something and points at another woman cowering a few yards away, before grabbing the boy's hair and slamming his face into the ground, breaking his nose. Seto flinches and glances at Martin, somewhat horrified to find the angel looking genuinely amused. He frowns, but Martin doesn't notice. After a moment, when it's clear the boy won't fight back again, Martin turns and continues on.

For the rest of the way to the shop, Seto keeps his head down, wishing he could get pictures of the gardens with the plants hanging from them. On second thought, though, he figures he might be able to draw them. So he gets one more glance, marveling at the architecture before they turn down a street and the gardens are cut from view.

Martin suddenly stops in front of a storefront, glancing both ways before looking at Seto. He nods, subtly, and goes inside. Warmth instantly rushes to greet them, the chilly air being swallowed away by teh door. At first glance, Seto isn't sure what to make of the shop. There are rows and rows of shelves, filled with books, strange objects, and then to the left they are filled mostly with jars. Martin gives a small wave at him, then turns to go for one of the shelves with some of the objects. He pauses at a section with engraved knives. 

Seto, deciding the wave was a signal to look around, does so. He heads towards the jars, scrunching his nose to find that most are filled with strange substances. Something that looks like animal teeth in one section, something that looks like eyeballs in another. He stops at a few rows, eyes widening at the small bodies inside. He can only connect them to fairies. They're small, most of them have wings draped fragilely behind them. Some are mutated beyond recognition; one jar holds two fairies that have seven arms, three of which are growing from their chests, and two heads with eyes covering their face instead of noses and mouths.

He quickly leaves that section and hurries towards where Martin was, only to find that the angel is up at the counter, chatting with the teller. Neither seems to notice him. Using the distraction, Seto heads around one of the shelves out of sight and pauses at the rows of what look like wands. He remembers back to the one Jordan had carved as a joke, and then to when Martin had tried to use it. 

Many of them look  _expensive_. He's sure that the stones along of the wands' sides are diamonds, embedded all up and down it. One on the lower shelf catches his eye and he squats down to look at it closer. It's made from an ash-colored wood, with silver curving up and around it. Along the base are emeralds, varying in size. A center stone is embedded at the tip, and it glows a dull green when he reaches for it.

But, suddenly hesitant, he pulls back, and glances towards where the angels are. Martin's shoulder is poking out from the corner, his right wing rattling like chimes when he laughs at something the cashier said. Seto thinks back to what Martin had said but decides that maybe the wand isn't exactly what he's... looking for. But then again, it's not as if he's actually  _looking_ for anything.

Sighing, Seto stands back up and turns around to look at amulets hanging from hooks. He reaches out for one, pulling it down. It suddenly glows in his palm; the runes Martin drew on his arm suddenly ache.

Entranced, Seto tilts it back and forth, looking over the sigils drawn around the outer circle. The stone in the middle is a blue-purple, so dark that it's nearly black. When the light catches in it, Seto can see through it. After a moment, he turns it over, glancing over the golden, curving lines raised from the stone. They are also in some sort of pattern, one that he doesn't recognize. The more he looks, though, the more he thinks that the stone is heating up.

And it is. 

Startled, he holds it by the gold chain, eyes widening at the blue fingerprints fading, echoes of where he'd held it. Something in him itches and he gingerly presses his thumb to the front of the stone. It starts glowing again, the soft blue highlighting the edges of his fingers. 

Nodding to himself, he puts it back to the shelf and goes up to the front.

Martin glances at him, then turns to the worker. He asks something in a different language and the man hums, before replying and going to the back. Seto hurries back to the amulets and grabs the one he'd been holding. Martin raises an eyebrow, but says nothing and takes it from him. Seto nearly doesn't let go of the chain. He isn't sure why he's so infatuated with it, but it's almost as if it's calling to him. Almost as if it wants him to keep it tucked away, and safe, and away from prying hands and eyes.

When the teller comes back, he sets a large box on the counter. Seto subtly stands on his toes to get a glance at it. There are more daggers inside, locked away behind the glass. After a moment of looking, Martin points at one and says something.

The box is unlocked by the cashier, who also takes the knife from it. He turns it back and forth, letting Martin look, before hesitantly handing it to the angel. Martin hefts it, turning it around in his hand, and steps back to take an experimental swipe. Seto doesn't miss the other angel's flinch. He's sure Martin doesn't, either. 

After a moment, Martin says something in a tone that suggests he'll take it, and sets it on the counter, along with the pendant. The cashier takes the box back and sets it aside before ringing the items up.

Paying and grabbing his previously-bought things from the counter, Maritn bids the angel a goodbye and leaves with Seto tagging along behind him. They return to the tagalong wings. Both of the others are gone, but a new one is parked nearby. Martin glances around before saying, "I was half-expecting you to get that wand."

"I, uh." He flounders for an answer, before shaking his head then nodding to the wrapped package with the amulet. "I like that."

"Fair enough." Martin loads the rest of their things before he starts rearranging them. He keeps checking the weights and, eventually satisfied, pats the tagalong and tells Seto to get on after turning the engines back on.

"That fight was about the girl's daughter, by the way," Martin says as Seto is climbing on. The angel starts attaching the main cord. "The boy wanted to marry her and, well, obviously that wasn't alright."

"Oh." Seto clutches tightly to the rails as Martin starts pulling the tagalong back to the takeoff strip. The elevator raises them up and Martin says, "Try not to move around. It's somewhat unbalanced, but we should be alright."

"Uhm."

Without another word, Martin takes off, pulling the tagalong behind him. It dips when it leaves the strip but rises when Martin does. One of the workers at the landing and takeoff strips waves.

The flight back is uneventful, but Nitram is waiting outside for them. He rises into the air to help guide the tagalong back to the ground, face set in a scowl the entire time. Seto tries not to think about how he must have eaten lunch alone, pissed at the both of them. 

When the land, Seto clambers off and Nitram powers the engines down. He doesn't say a word to Martin the whole time he unloads the packages, and he doesn't look at Seto either. 

Deciding he isn't about to get caught between the two if they fight, Seto takes the amulet from the bag and starts unwrapping it. Nitram does glance over when he pulls it out. "Oh," he says, and looks at Martin.

Nothing is said between them, but Nitram sighs and seems to give up on being angry. He shakes his head and starts pushing the tagalong to the back of the shop where they probably keep it stored. "Lunch is ready, Seto. It's on the stove."

"Oh, uh. Thanks, Nitram." Seto pulls the amulet over his head, ignoring how the chain is much longer than it should be. It glows a light blue when he rests against his chest. Curious, he starts rubbing off the sigils on his arm as he walks back to the house.

The explosion is instantaneous.

It knocks him to his knees, but when he looks around, gasping for breath, nothing seems to be out of place. White clouds his vision and he puts a hand on the ground to steady himself. After a long moment of sitting there, he tries to get up but finds that he can't move. His limbs just don't respond. It's as if he'd been given the paralytic again, but on a much more terrifying level.

Seto kneels there until Martin's voice suddenly cuts through the ringing in his ears, which he hadn't realized was there in the first place.

"Alright, alright, get up. Come on, don't let it get to you." Martin hefts him up by his upper arm and Seto stumbles, blinking frantically to clear the sparks still dancing around. "I should've told you to wait, it's on me," Martin says to him, guiding him back to the house. He decides walking takes too long and flies up to the main island, setting him down on the porch steps. 

"I'm going to take this off of you, Seto-"

"No!" The strangled cry wrangles itself from his mouth before he can think to stop it. He clutches at the pendant and shies back, suddenly finding feeling again. "Don't- I-"

"Okay, okay." Martin raises his hands and backs off. "Alright, I understand. Just- breathe, and don't concentrate on it too much."

Nitram lands nearby and hurries over, going to kneel down next to Seto. "You shouldn't have let him put it on, Martin," he scolds but doesn't do anything to take the amulet.

"What- What is-" Seto struggles for breath and looks around, dizzy and lightheaded. He clutches tightly at the stone, glancing down to find it glowing brightly, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

"It's a conductor," Martin explains, "I had hoped you might have chosen a weaker one, but this one works."

"Conductor?" 

"All fledglings get them when their magic starts growing in." Nitram studies the runes over it and says, "This one will have to be changed slightly, but you can do that yourself when you know what you're doing." 

"You have them too?" He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and slowly lets go of the pendant. In answer, Nitram pulls out his knife, showing the runes etched into the pearly blade. He sheathes it back at his side. 

Martin doesn't offer his to show; he looks momentarily upset, but Seto is too distracted to ask about it. Instead, he says, "Most angels keep them throughout their life. That'll be with you for a long time."

After a moment, Nitram gets up and murmurs something to Martin. The other angel nods and settles on the steps next to Seto. The ringing in his ears eventually fades into a soft humming, as if the stone was apologizing. When he's sure he can stand, he starts to get up. Martin gets to his feet and offers a hand, which Seto takes gratefully. Suddenly exhausted, he lets himself be led inside and to the table, where Nitram is putting down a bowl of what smells like soup.

He sits down and, after a moment, picks up the fork and starts eating. He can still hear the amulet singing, a low note just at the edge of his hearing. A glance down shows that it's still glowing, but not as bright as before. He passes a thumb over it and it glows at the contact, making a bright stripe down its front. 

Martin sits down across from him and starts eating. After a long few minutes, he says, "I want to start training you in magic before you go home. It's already risky to let you go back down, but even more so without any sort of training. Neither of us are sure what your magics might be, but we know you have several."

"Oh, um." He thinks about how Jordan had scrounged for any information on healing magic, and head to teach himself, and had to go by trial and error. "Yeah, no. I understand."

"Good." Martin takes a bite. "Nitram and I will both help. We can start tomorrow."

Seto hesitates but then nods. He wants to go home as soon as possible. "Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good."

Nitram sighs and leaves, but Martin doesn't look over at him. "Tomorrow, then."


	7. way down we go

He's not really surprised that training gets pushed back a few days. Martin is busy, gathering things to make new wings, and then for all night and day, he's in the smith, working away to perfect them. Nitram expresses his displeasure on the matter but does nothing to stop his brother. 

When Martin isn't in the smith or sleeping, he's sitting at the table, pouring over books that Seto can't read. After a while, Nitram gets the hint to just leave him alone. 

Over alcohol and the fireplace, Nitram says one night, "I'm worried about him. He's only ever gotten this bad a few times."

Seto glances over and slides off of the bay window, going to sit on the couch next to Nitram. "What's he doing?"

Nitram pauses, then shuts his eyes. "I have a feeling about what he's planning. I'm not sure, though."

Seto runs his hand over his amulet and looks down at the blue glow. Nitram gets up and grabs him a glass and pours a shot into it. Seto takes it, but doesn't drink. Nitram doesn't push him. He's somewhat worried about the angel's alcoholic tendencies. 

Nitram gives himself another full glass and says, "We'll start training soon, Seto. I'll convince him to do it."

"Why don't you just help?"

Nitram sighs, but doesn't answer. Seto hesitantly drinks. 

They sit like that for a long time, both just watching the fire. After a moment, he says, "Can you teach me some of the Above languages?"

Nitram raises an eyebrow but nods after a moment. "Yeah, I can do that. We can start soon, Before you leave."

"Adam would love it." Then, after Nitram's questioning look, Seto says, "He's my friend. He's- Also half-angel."

"Huh. I wonder whose."

Seto shrugs, but after a moment says, "He doesn't know. His mom is human, like mine- was." 

A long silence settles. Eventually, he says, "I saw my dad once. He came to her funeral. Didn't say anything. I'm surprised he even came."

Nitram mutters something about being surprised as well, then he says, "His name is Brian. He's the head General. I am surprised he would-" He glances over, then coughs and drinks. "Well, He is nothing much, Seto. Generals - they are..." He searches for the word, waving his hand. "Well."

"Yeah."

The conversation seems to end there, but something heavy in is in his chest. "Nathaniel," he says, quietly, after a moment, "He's a General too, right?"

"Brian's brother, actually." At Seto's horrified glance, Nitram seems to realzie it was probably the wrong thing to say.

"My- Dad's brother?" He whispers. " _Brother_? He killed-"

Anger churns in his gut. Everything about it is unfair. "No wonder it was covered up. We had to move, we- We were forced to move to the eighteenth district. Adam moved with me and Jordan, but- Everyone else was- forced to leave or- or-" He shivers, suddenly cold. 

After a long time, Nitram quietly says, "I'm- sorry, Seto. I know- I know what it's like, to lose someone so close. I know it might not mean much coming from me, but I am sorry."

Seto is quiet for a while. Finally, he reaches up to rub his eyes, downing the rest of his drink a moment later and coughing at the taste. He doesn't say anything.

Another moment passes, then Nitram gets up. He wishes Seto a good night and pours one more drink for himself, but leaves the bottle.

Wordlessly, Seto reaches over for it.

[...]

A few days later, Martin brings him outside in front of the porch. He has a handful of candles with him. "Alright, Seto, let's get this magic wrangled in, hm?"

Magic training is dull, at first. Martin sits down across from him and tells him to start breathing evenly. In, out, in, out. Meditate. It's- horribly boring.

Wishing he could just fall asleep and call _that_ meditating, Seto does as he's told. Ten minutes later, Martin sets down a candle and lights it and tells him to feel for the magic coming from the flame.

That, initially, is fairly easy. After a moment of sitting there with his eyes closed, he can feel the yarns, and he tells Martin. He leans back and says, "Good. Grab them."

"Um. What about what happened last time?" He still remembers not being able to let go of the strings, and how that had affected the fire in the furnace.

Martin dismisses his worries with a wave. "This fire is mine. It's from my magic. If you get out of control, I'll take it from you. No harm done."

Seto hesitates but nods and closes his eyes again. He realizes he's lost the feeling of the strings. Sighing, Seto searches for them again. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, they're there, pulsing and writhing through the air like snakes. He tentatively reaches out with a hand, only for Martin to smack it away and say, "No, don't physically reach for them."

"That's what I did last time," he protests, but Martin only shakes his head. Seto looks down to find the flame has gone out. 

Martin reignites the candle wick and gestures for him to try again. Groaning in frustration, he closes his eyes, fingers tapping along his knee. This goes on for a few moments before Martin tells him not to fidget.

He resists the urge to rub his temples and breathes in, out, and tries to feel for the strings again. They resurface; one of them brushes somewhere on his arm and he flinches away at the contact, breaking concentration again. Martin pinches the bridge of his nose. "That was just from the magic of the watermill, Seto. Concentrate on the one from the-"

"I got it, I got it." He screws his eyes shut and curls his hands into fists, hearing Martin shift around a bit before he falls still. This time, when he notices the strings, there are a lot less. Curious, he tries to expand his reach, finding that most of the magic is being turned away from them. 

Assuming it's Martin's doing, Seto narrows in on the wisp of string rising from the candle like smoke. His hands twitch as if to grab for it, but he keeps them on his lap. He sits there for a long time before sighing and saying, "How am I supposed to grab them, then?"

"It's different for everybody," Martin says, and Seto can just  _see_ him shrugging. "You have to figure it out. Mine is- More like a stream or the currents of the ocean. I can direct them if I just move the currents. Or, sometimes, it's like- It's like it's singing, or there's a note. I can look for that and just..." He waves. "Snag it?"

"Thanks," Seto mutters, "That explains a lot."

At least it's getting easier to find the strings. When they're finally there, he tries to envision prodding at them with his mind. It doesn't work. They writhe away, moving in lurching motions, following a heartbeat.

After a second, he opens his eyes, glancing up at Martin. Yes, if he listens, the angel's heartbeats are connected to the fire strings; they echo each other. Not quite in sync, but close enough.

"It's like a heartbeat," Seto says, "The fire is following yours."

Martin frowns at this. "Are you sure?"

He nods and closes his eyes again, this time physically reaching out. The string is held easily, warmth heating his palm. He feels it pulsing, as if angry at being contained, but unable to get out of his grasp. After holding it there for a second, he rests his hand against his own chest, feeling the singular pulse. Maybe if he could just attach it to his, he'd be able to control it. 

Deciding it's worth a try, he brings both hands to his chest and feels the flame grow higher at his tugging. That's not really what he wanted to do, but it's something. Now he feels for the rest of the strings around them, able to pinpoint how the ones being moved away are also pulsing. He takes a deep breath, fingers digging into his chest, and then there's this...  _give_.

Martin gasps and suddenly lurches back, breaking Seto's concentration. He clutches at his chest and takes a few heavy breaths, eyebrows coming together. They stare at each other for a long moment, before Seto looks to the flame to find it rising and falling. He breathes in, out, and it follows his movements. He casts Martin a grin and says, "That's it, right? It's like a heartbeat. I just- connected it to mine."

"Fuck," Martin says, and rubs his forehead. Seto frowns when he stands up and starts pacing. 

Still clutching the string of fire tightly, Seto glances back down. He takes a deeper breath and listens to the thumping of his heart. After a long moment, he lets out a breath, but the fire stays at the same height. Martin watches him warily.

After a long moment, he says, "Keep doing that. I'm going to go get Nitram."

"Um, okay." Now that he has it, he has a good feeling it would take a bit to lose it. His concentration slips and the fire flickers, but he can still feel the string in his grasp. He mentally tugs at it again and it soars. Martin hurries off.

Left to do his own thing, Seto slowly lets go of the fire, closing his eyes and concentrating on the rest of the magic. Now that it isn't being crowded away, he can tell that it does have its own pulse. He can't figure out whose it is, but it writhes and beats as if pumping blood through veins. Curious, he reaches out for the nearest string, and something tells him it's for the grass. Curious, he tugs the yarns towards him, latching it to his heartbeat. Sweat beads on his forehead; it's harder to manipulate these strings, as there are many of them, but after a few moments, he feels something brush his elbow.

Looking down, Seto jerks back in surprise, finding that the plants have grown, reaching up past his legs. He shifts, reaching out to pluck a few blades. They feel waxy and real. He'd just made the goddamn grass grow.

"He says it's like a heartbeat." 

"You're sure?"

Seto glances over to find the brothers coming over to him. Martin pauses, staring at the grass. Seto grins and said, "Dude, I just fucking, like, did this."

"Already?" Nitram mutters and sits down, reaching out to snuff out the candle. He ignites it a moment later and says, "Alright, try to take it from me like you did Martin."

"Take it from you?" Seto drops the blades of grass, frowning. "No, I just was manipulating it, right? Like how Martin said, it's different for everyone."

Nitram hesitates, then slowly says, "The fire was made from Martin's magic. It was directly connected to him, yes, but once you took it, it was cut from him."

"Oh, um."

The angel gestures for him to try. Seto closes his eyes, pinpointing the fire. It feels- different somehow. He guesses it's because it's Nitram's magic. He easily grabs for the string, feeling the fluttering of heartbeats. Tugging it to his chest, he listens for his own pulse. And, like that, it gives, as if leaning its weight onto him.

When he opens his eyes, Nitram is staring at him, surprise clear on his face. He reaches out and puts out the flame. Seto feels something _snap_ and he grasps for the string, but it's gone. "Feel that?"

"Yeah, that- That wasn't really pleasant." He rubs at his chest, hand bumping into the amulet. "That was it disconnecting from my magic?"

"Yes," Nitram answers, and after a moment he glances at Martin, then back to the candle to light it. "Again."

"But that wasn't good for me, I doubt it feels any better for you?"

"Just try again, Seto."

Nitram's tone makes him pause. Cautiously, he reaches for the flame again. Quickly, he snaps Nitram's connection from it, and the angel physically flinches. 

"Right," Martin mutters and starts pacing again. "This is-"

"We aren't panicking right now, Martin," Nitram hisses, relighting the candle. "Again, Seto."

"But I-"

"Try something else," Martin suggests, "Water, or something."

After a moment, Nitram sighs and stands, walking towards the watermill. He brings up a small ball of water, twisting it in his hand before he settles down in front of Seto. "This magic was not created by me, but I'm holding it. Understand?"

"Uh- Yes?"

"Good. I want you to take it from me. I am going to fight you on this, now." Nitram nods for him to start. 

Seto cautiously feels for the cold strings, finding the bundle in Nitram's hand. It's like they're locked in place, burbling and angry. He tries to tug one strand from the bundle, but something suddenly snaps at him and he flinches back. "Keep your hands in place."

He sighs but sits on them so he won't be tempted. Closing his eyes again, he prods at the magic before reaching for the entire bundle. It coils away from him, pulsing rhythmically, but he keeps trying to claw at it. Finally, Seto manages to get a good grip, and he tugs. The heartbeat flowing through them stutters. Nitram mumbles a curse, but the water strings don't budge. Seto frowns and yanks harshly, and suddenly water splashes in his face. He falls back, blinking in surprise. Martin barks a laugh, but it dies quickly. Nitram stares at him. 

"Oh, god," Martin groans, "He's a fucking- necromancer, isn't he?"

"What, like, bringing things from the dead?" Seto doesn't think that's really the right word for whatever he's doing. 

"No, uh." Nitram rubs his eyes and leans his elbows on his knees. "Crap. This is-"

"Necromancer is the closest translation," Martin explains after a second. "You can- directly tamper with someone's magic."

"That's it?" 

At Martin's hesitation, Seto knows he's not being told everything. He frowns and grabs his amulet, running his thumb over it for a moment and watching it light up. 

"I thought I felt something that night," Nitram mutters, "With the fire. I was not sure, so I just brushed it off."

Martin mutters something Seto can't understand. Nitram looks over at him, then back to Seto. "You have to be careful with this, Seto. It is going to be hard to train you in magic. We were hoping for something easier."

"What else is there about it?" He brushes the warning off, leaning forward. "You're not telling me something."

The twins both pause, then eventually Nitram sighs and says, "I-... Necromancers, Seto. They are fairly rare. And when they are found out, they- Well, they're killed. Human, angel, it does not matter."

Something sinks in the pit of his stomach. "What? Why?"

"They can tamper with life forces," Martin says after a moment, "Give, take, reanimate. Just depends on how strong they are."

"You're kidding, he says, but neither of them says anything to that. He sits back, then rubs his eyes and groans. "Why me?"

"Perhaps God hates you," Nitram says evenly, and leans forward to light the candle. "Okay. Again."

With a sigh, he mentally reaches for the strand from the fire, grasping it easily. After a moment, he severs the connection and stitches it to his own heart. Nitram puts the candle out, then reaches for the other candles Martin had set aside. He lights two extra and the original. "All of them. Again."

It's somewhat more difficult, this time. He manages to wrestle them into his grip, but before he can snap the connection Nitram stops him. "Just try to manipulate it without severing my line to it."

Seto pauses, then sighs through his nose and tries to make the flames rise. He doesn't even get a flicker. After a moment, he shakes his head. "I can't do that. I have to connect it to myself."

"Then do that. Just do not sever mine."

He blinks open his eyes and glances at Nitram, then to Martin where he sat down nearby. The angel doesn't say anything, and his expression, like always, gives nothing away. With another sigh, Seto feels for the fires again, pulling the strands to him. 

Without the initial cut, it's strange to try and stitch it to his own pulse. It leaves an uncomfortable feeling under his skin, like an itch he can't get to. Fidgeting in place, he finally decides to just go ahead and connect it. Instantly, there's a rush that leaves him dizzy and something in his chest echoes behind his heartbeat. A stronger one, heavier, and he gasps and jerks away, looking up to find Nitram pale in the face. 

The angel clears his throat and, with a wave, snuffs out the candles. "Right," he says, grabbing another four candles, "One more time. Do it again."

Lighting them, the angel sits back and watches Seto. Self-conscious, he mentally sends out strands to grab the flames, and starts linking them to himself, one by one. The heartbeat beneath them grows stronger with each one; it leaves an uncomfortable jarring sensation in his chest. Pressing a hand to his amulet, he frowns at the pulsing in the stone. It's his own. Maybe if he added that to the strands, it would be better-

There's a give, a push, and then a rush of  _something_ and suddenly he's pitching to the side, gasping, hardly noticing Nitram do the same.

"Sever it," Martin says quickly, rushing to hold up his brother. "Seto cut the connection."

"I-" Heartbeats that aren't his own pulsing in his veins, in his chest. His ears are ringing, vision sparking with white, doubling back, and suddenly he can see himself, hunched over, from someone else's point of view. Nitram reaches out to knock over the candles (his own hand reaches out to knock them over), putting out the flames, but it doesn't help.

Something else is there, with him, rushing back and forth like waves, like blood inside veins, and it's picking up. He can  _feel_ Nitram take a ragged breath (he takes a ragged breath) and then he can feel the horrible, gut-wrenching shudder that goes through the angel. (Something is breaking inside him, snapping, tearing apart shred by shred.) 

Suddenly, a hard spear of magic collides with the connection, snapping it. Seto gasps in air and coughs, flinching in on himself at the pain. He clutches at the amulet, shivering, and wearily opens his eyes to glance over. Nitram is still slumped against Martin, breath ragged, but looks to be awake.

"Okay," Martin says, "It's okay." 

Seto isn't sure who he's talking to. He can't get past the still-echoing feeling of being connected, of being a body that wasn't his own. He shakes and trembles and tries to get up, but just collapses back to his knees. Martin doesn't seem to pay attention to him. He slowly gets Nitram to his feet, casting a, "Stay there, Seto, just give me a second," over his shoulder as he leads his brother inside.

It's not like Seto  _can_ go anywhere. He feels too light-headed to stand up, in the first place. After a moment, he slumps down in the grass, using his arm as a pillow. 

He's not sure when he passed out, but the next thing Seto realizes is Martin is picking him up and bringing him inside. Seto manages a glance around and sees Nitram slumped on the couch, hiding his head in his hands. He's trembling. 

"You're not too dizzy, Seto?" Martin is asking. He puts him next to Nitram on the couch. "Nitram?"

The angel groans, but mutters something that must be an assurance in some other language. Seto tries to raise his hand to rub his eyes, but the shaking is too much and he feels like he can barely lift his arm. He drops it back to his side. Turns his head. Nitram is pale, still hunched over. Suddenly, he slumps forward. Martin is under him quickly, pushing him back onto the couch. "Okay, okay," the angel is muttering, "We're- Just gonna rest here for now, okay?"

Nitram blinks and his eyes roam slightly before dropping to the fireplace. Martin glances back to it and gets up to ignite it, which he does with a few snaps of magic. Seto shivers and slides down onto the floor, despite Martin trying to get him back up. He waves the angel off. 

Martin hovers for a moment. Then, as if he'd made up his mind, he tells them to stay put and goes to the kitchen. Seto doesn't have the strength to turn his head. Dishes clack together. A few minutes later, Martin returns with a few bowls of the broth from the leftovers. He sets them on the coffee table. Nitram doesn't move, but Seto goes to reach for them. Martin smacks his hands away and sets down two small bottles Seto hadn't noticed. He uncorks one, hesitates, then pours half in and mixes it. The rest of it goes into the other bowl, as does the second vial. Martin sets the first bowl in Seto's lap and then wordlessly sits next to his brother.

His hand shakes too much to hold the spoon. With a sigh, he drops it back down and slumps into his hands. Martin pushes his shoulder. "It'll help, Seto, just try to drink it."

"Maybe in a cup?" His voice wobbles. Martin sighs, but grabs Seto's bowl and gets up. He returns a moment later and hands Seto the drink. 

He concentrates on drinking it, but at one point he glances over to find Martin with his back to him, slowly trying to get Nitram to drink. Guilt twists in his stomach and Seto quickly looks away to the fire. Cautiously, he tries to feel for the strands. They're there but faded. Dim. Still, he reaches out, mentally snagging a few.

Martin jolts and spills broth on himself before he reaches over and shakes Seto's shoulder. "Don't." The word is barked, clipped, and there is a cold rage in his eyes. For a moment, they blaze gold, and the fire roars. 

Seto reels back as if he'd been punched and leans away from Martin's hand. The angel pauses, as if trying to decide to feel bad or not, but then he turns back around. Seto shakes and drinks from his glass and empties it, reaching up to rub his face. After a long moment, he starts to get up. Nitram's eyes move towards him and Martin tenses. The angel sighs. He gets up and helps Seto to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"I- I think," he mutters, knowing he's still not feeling too good. He shrinks away from Martin's hands and hobbles over to the bay window, nearly stumbling. Neither of the brothers moves to help him. 

He crawls into the bed, glancing outside. It's still bright, still daylight. Everything is as vivid as ever. He doesn't have the energy to enjoy the view.

Seto curls up, pressing the side of his head to the glass. He's exhausted, but something is stirring in his stomach, pulsing energy, and he knows he can't get to sleep. He figures it's probably the potion Martin had given him. 

A glance over shows Nitram drinking down the rest of the bowl on his own. He sets it down, then quietly says, as if it's been on his tongue for the past two days, "Nobody's come after us yet."

Martin hesitates and meets Seto's eyes for a second. He turns away, knowing this isn't a conversation he should take part in. A moment later has Martin replying in some other language - Spanish, Seto thinks. Nitram hesitates, then the conversation continues. His name is mentioned once, but then Simon's name keeps coming up. At the end, Martin says, "Do you want me to talk to Baki?"

"He-"

"He knows, Nitram," Martin says quietly. Nitram is silent for a moment.

He says, "I know. I trust him."

"You shouldn't." Martin gets up and rummages around in the kitchen. Serto glances over to find him bringing another few vials over, all of different colors. He hands Nitram one that looks like the two he'd first gotten. Nitram uncorks it and takes it as a shot, but scrunches his face. 

"He's kept quiet this long."

"We keep funneling him money, that's why."

Nitram takes the second potion down and then mutters something again in Spanish. Then he glances at Seto, then back to Martin and speaks again. 

After a moment of silence, Nitram says, "He had to rework our wing ports, Martin. He has known since day one."

Martin mutters an agreement and hands Nitram the last vial. This one he hesitates to drink, reading the label. After a moment, he sighs and sips from it. "But Simon- He's a problem."

"What do you think Baki told him?"

Nitram is silent for a long time. Then he shrugs and admits he doesn't know. Seto turns away from their conversation, looking outside. 

Something glints above the trees.

He sits upright quickly, drawing their attention. Seto ignores their questions, eyes darting to the patches of sky that he can see between the trees. After a moment, he sees the glint again. "Someone's out there," he says, and the two get up quickly. He glances over in time to find Nitram swaying and mumbling a curse.

Martin hurries to grab the charcoal pencil, but suddenly there's a loud thump on the roof. They all look up. Seto tenses when he hears footsteps, and then another thump outside the back door. A long moment passes, then the angel shoves open the door.

Baki looks tired, that's the first thing Seto notices. Tired and a mess. His hair is disheveled and there are horrible dark circles around his eyes.

He glances over them, pink eyes flicking to Seto for a moment before landing on the twins. "Simon's hurt," he whispers. Martin goes over to guide him to the couch. He sits down and slumps, head falling to the back of the couch for a moment before he reaches up to rub his eyes. "Bad. It's- It's bad. He's still, still out there, and I- I can't go to him. I can't- I- There's another case of the deathbell, and- She's still there, she's about to die- But Simon- I-"

"Hey, it's alright," Nitram says, "Where is he?"

"In the East. Nathaniel sent out another squadron, and- Oh, god they got him, Nitram." Seto watches with wide eyes as Baki breaks, leaning forward to hide his face. "Those- That _monster_ , he just- He just wiped out the whole _group_. It was their leader, or- I don't know, I- It was just him, but he just- Slaughtered them _all_. Only two are left, just- Just Simon and Kable."

Seto doesn't miss the sharp look the twins give each other. It's just a split second, but a whole exchange is made. Nitram puts a hand on Baki's shoulder. "Simon will be okay, Baki," he says quietly, "He will come home."

"No," Baki groans, "He's- It's so  _bad_ , Nitram. I only just got word of it. He's only gotten worse of the days and-" He takes a shuddering breath. When his hands move, Seto sees tear tracks. Something in him twists. He shouldn't be watching this.

"Which medic is there?" Martin asks. 

"Jayn. She's- She sent word to me, and she's doing all she can- They're still in the east, they can't leave without- Without-" He heaves a sob and runs his hands through his white hair. "I- I could've been there, I- He's not going to make it. He's not going to make it- And I- I won't _be there_."

Seto swallows and gets up, shakily wandering outside. It's not his place to be there. As he quietly exits, he hears Nitram muttering assurances, but it seems they fall on deaf ears.

Something is heavy in his gut. He wonders if Martin thinks their problems have been somewhat solved. Then he quickly shakes the disgusting thought away. Baki is a mess, it's not the time to think like that.

He sits down on the porch steps for a moment, looking out at the garden. After a while, he decides he might as well get some work done on it. Get things out of his mind. 

Another hour or two later, Martin comes out. He glances at Seto, then sighs and sits down on the porch steps. He doesn't seem willing to talk. Seto leaves him be.

Eventually, though, Martin gets up and says, "I'm going to make lunch. Baki's going to be staying with us for a bit, but he's gonna have to go back to the hospital soon. Is that okay?"

"Uh- Yeah, sure." Somewhat put off by the question, Seto shrugs. "It's your house. And- I think he needs someone right now."

Martin nods and heads inside, leaving Seto to sit and work on the garden.

After another hour, he sighs and gets up. Going back inside finds the scene relatively unchanged. Nitram sits with Baki on the couch. The doctor glances over when Seto comes in but then looks away. Uneasy, he moves to help Martin set the table. The silence is deafening. Nothing can be said that hasn't already been told.

Quietly, Martin brings over plates for the two, then goes to grab his own and sits with them. He hesitantly glances at Seto, but he shakes his head and just sits at the table. It's not his place to get in the way.

Eventually, Nitram takes Baki to the guest room. He comes back down and sits with Martin.

He whispers, "We couldn't have done anything, Martin."

"... I know."

"If I ever see Muran again, I'll-"

Martin holds up a hand, cutting Nitram off.

The brothers are silent for a long time, then Martin murmurs, "I know. I know."

 


	8. i sold my soul to a three-piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and he told me i was holy

Baki leaves sometime during the night. Nitram had apparently seen him out, but Seto wakes up when he's gone. The brothers are sitting at the table eating, quiet for once. A glance outside shows that the island is passing through a dark grey cloud. The trees loom in the fog, just barely visible. 

Seto slowly gets up, going outside for the outhouse, then going to the bathroom to wash and brush his teeth. He pulls on the same pants from yesterday and a new shirt and goes back into the main room. Makes a plate for himself. Sits down in his chair. The silence is heavy for a long moment, and he finally breaks it with a cough. "Is- Baki okay?"

Martin glances up from his food, over to Nitram, then sighs when it's obvious his brother isn't in a talking move. "Baki will be okay," he lies, and Seto hears his heart pick up, just only slightly. "Simon is-... We aren't sure he'll make it."

"Oh," Seto whispers, and after another long stretch of silence, says, "Can I- Can I go home?"

This time, Nitram looks up, but his eyes are unreadable. Martin sets down his fork. For a while, everyone is quiet.

Finally, Martin sighs and gets up. "Of course, Seto. Let's get you home."

[...]

It's strange seeing his home from the air. He doesn't recognize it at all, but Martin seems to know where he's going. 

Turbulence jostles the tagalong and Seto hunches lower on it, shifting. His legs are aching from sitting on it for so long. They'd been in the air for hours now, so much longer than they had when Martin had gone shopping. He wonders if Martin is feeling any strain. From the looks of it, though, he seems to be doing just fine. 

Finally, after circling above the island for some time, Martin points down to a section of a forest and calls back, "Is that it?"

Seto sits up and leans over slightly, gut wriggling at how high up they are. It takes him a moment to find what Martin is pointing at, but then he spots the roof of a house. He recognizes the large skylight from his mom's room, and the long, winding road leading away from the front of the house. "Yeah, that's it."

Martin descends. As they get closer, Seto sees Jordan's black car in the driveway. His heart feels light, and he smiles slightly. God, he'd missed Jordan. Hopefully, things will go smoothly. He isn't sure if they'll have to move again. People will be after them; their lives won't be the same.

It's sort of weird that Jordan's just  _home_ , but Seto brushes the thought away. 

Martin detaches from the tagalong and flips back, grabbing ahold of the bars to slowly guide it towards the straight strip of road. The landing isn't smooth this time, gravel getting kicked up. He hears it pinging off of the tagalong and Martin's wings. Seto cowers down so nothing hits him.

Eventually, they roll to a stop. Martin glances around, tense, and waves Seto off of it. He hops down and starts hurrying to the house, breaking into a run near the end. 

And he slides to a stop.

The door is open. 

The house is dark.

Martin comes up next to him, pausing as well. He glances around again and puts a finger to his lips, wings mantling as he stalks forward. The porch steps protest under his weight, groaning loudly. Seto bats at his arm and slinks into the front door before him, glancing around. Everything is coated in a light layer of dust. It had to have been abandoned soon after Seto left. 

He stops, listening, but the house doesn't make a sound. Nobody is inside.

Martin seems to reach the same conclusion. He comes inside, pausing to go to the kitchen. Seto hurries into the living room. "Jordan?"

Ignoring Martin's hissing shush, he calls out again, racing to Jordan's bedroom. The door is also open, and things are scattered all over. A quick once-over tells him most of everything is there, but it's been trashed. As if someone was looking for something. The mattress is halfway on the floor, slumped over the edge of the bed.

Something hard clogs his throat and Seto wrenches another cry for his brother, shoving past Martin to check his own bedroom. Everything there is in place, surprisingly. The lights he has strung up are still on for some reason. He hurries back upstairs, combing the whole house. He pauses at the steps, calling, "Jordan? This isn't funny! I'm home, I'm-..."

"Seto?"

Martin's voice is very, very quiet. Seto whirls around to find the angel coming from the kitchen, a piece of paper in his hand. Seto scrambles and snatches it from his hand, glancing once over the few words. 

_I'm sorry, Seto._

"No," he says, and denial curls in his stomach. He reads over it again, then flips it over. There's a number on the back that he doesn't understand.  _+61 (03) 0776 5634_

"He's-"

Martin opens the fridge, glancing over it. "He must have- left shortly after you did. Seto, I'm- I'm sorry."

"No, he's- He's gotta be at work, or- or something. He couldn't have-" Seto folds the paper up and shoves it into his pocket. He flounders mentally for a second before rushing back to his room, pulling his phone out and quickly plugging it into the charger. Knowing it would take a minute for it to turn back on, he sits down and puts his head in his hands.

Martin comes down a moment later, his old pair of flight goggles and his jacket slung over his shoulder. He pulls the goggles on over his neck and kneels down. "Seto," he says quietly, "We can't stay here."

"I- I know, I just- Let me- Give me a second, please."

Martin takes that as an answer and gets up, going back upstairs. 

Seto sits on the bed for a long minute, eventually giving up and letting a sob shudder through him. Just as he's about to start bawling, his phone vibrates. He grabs it and opens it up to the home screen, finding over twenty missed calls and texts. He opens the call list first, stomach sinking when he only sees Adam's name. Covering his mouth to keep himself from crying, he flips open the text app.

The last one sent through dates back-

He pauses and goes to his calendar, paling when he realizes he's almost been gone for two months. 

Adam last texted him a month ago.  _They're saying I have to leave. I'm sorry, Seto._

Nausea turning into something cold and hard in his stomach, he reads through the texts, starting at the beginning. At first it's almost normal, Adam just texting about homework. Then he starts asking where Seto is. What happened. Jordan's not home. Adam's scared. Doesn't know what's going on.

Then a few days passed, and the next few texts get strange.  _He asked where you are. I couldn't tell him much. I didn't tell him much._

_This guy gives me the creeps._

_I don't know what to do._

_They're still looking for you._

And then the last one, and since then nothing. Shaking, Seto taps on Adam's name and then taps the call button. It goes directly to voicemail. This time, he cries, body jerking with the force of it. Jordan's- dead, Adam's gone, Seto doesn't know what to do. This isn't- This-

Martin comes back down at the sound of his wailing, pausing awkwardly in the doorway. Seto waves him away, but the angel only sighs and ducks into the tapestries to sit down next to Seto on the floor. "Are you- Alright?"

"No!" Seto shouts, making Martin flinch. "Why the  _fuck_ would I be okay? Adam's phone isn't working, and- and Jordan is-"

"Wait, what about Adam?"

Frustrated, upset, Seto shoves the phone towards Martin. He holds it gingerly, having to bring it closer to his face to see it. His brow creases. A long moment passes, then he says, quietly, "We have to leave, Seto."

"I know," he whispers back, "Just- Can I bring some stuff? I don't- I-"

"Yeah. The tagalong can carry a shit ton of weight. Do you need help packing?"

Seto nods and gets up, taking his phone and leaving it on its charger. He pauses at his dresser, then sighs and says, "None of this will fit me, anyway."

"Sorry," Martin says, and opens the closet. Seto ducks under him and grabs the box of medical supplies he always keeps. He rummages through the bottles, checking the label before sighing. "I'm- I'm gonna need to stop at Walgreens."

"What's-"

"It's a store. I need to pick up some prescriptions." He's skipped out on his T-shots for too long. He still has some of the medicine, but he'll need new needles, and he's already running low. He knows the prescription is automatically refilled. Hopefully, it's at the store. 

After a few minutes of gathering necessities, he starts pulling the tapestries off the wall. Getting the idea, Martin takes them as well, folding them up neatly. "You can move into the guest room," he says, quietly, "I doubt you want to stay on the bay window."

"Thanks," Seto mutters, making his body move through the motions. They can't stay there. Not with Jordan  _gone_ , not with the clear warning from Adam. He can't stay. He has to leave, and soon. Grieving can come later. 

Mentally turning off the dial for his emotions, Seto gathers sentimental things. Things he doesn't really need but knows he'll want to have. After gathering most of everything he thinks will fit on the tagalong, he pauses and kneels down on his bed, pushing blankets and pillows aside before finding his old stuffed cat shoved down between the wall and the mattress. He doesn't give it much thought; just throws it into the bags they're using to keep everything together. That stuffed toy has been with him since he was two. He's not going to go and forget it now.

They're both silent as they pack. Martin seems to get that Seto's just throwing random crap in, so he does the same, taking knickknacks off the shelves. He pauses at the bookshelf, pulling out a large book. "I thought you said you didn't take an anatomy class?"

"Oh, uh. That was Adam's. He gave it to me. I never really read through it or anything."

Martin hesitates, but nods. He puts it in a bag, for some reason. Seto doesn't bother to ask why. He goes over to pull down a few more books to join the growing pile. 

Deciding he's going to carry electronics himself, he dumps out his school bag and starts carefully folding wires. He puts in his laptop, phone and kindle. Martin's eyes light up at them, but he doesn't say anything.

"I wonder if I could take the router box," Seto mutters, then on second thought shrugs and decides he might as well.

"Electricity doesn't work the same up there," Martin reminds, but Seto waves him off. Might as well give it a shot. He takes one more glance around the room, then sighs and grabs some of the bags and his backpack. He takes a moment to realize that they're lighter than they should be. It's just a reminder that he's not what he used to be. 

The router box is up in the living room. While Martin goes to strap down the things on the tagalong, Seto pulls its cords out and starts folding them up into his backpack. Just as he's about to zip it up, he pauses and gets up. 

The railing in the stairwell, like the rest of the house, is covered in dust. His mom's room even more so. Neither he nor Jordan had really gone in here at all since she passed. He stops at the doorway, glancing around. There are a few patches where the dust is stirred up and there are dead leaves on the floor. He frowns and goes over to them, absentmindedly kicking one with his shoe and looking up at the skylight. He stands on his toes and tugs the cord that hangs down. 

The skylight folds back, a few clumps of snow falling inside. He sidesteps them easily, staring up at the window. After a long moment, he sighs and closes it, and goes to her dresser. 

He's hesitant to dig through his mom's stuff. But he also wants to know if there was anything else, other than the journal. He glances at the pictures tucked along the mirror, pulling the ones he recognizes down. He pauses at one. His mom managed to catch an angel in the selfie. Seto remembers his face, the dark hair that Jordan got, and his bright lilac eyes. He stands there for a moment, then grabs it, as well. Stuffing all the pictures in his pocket, he starts pulling open drawers. A few of them look as if they'd been searched through. No doubt Martin's doing.

Seto shoves the anger away and tells himself not to be a hypocrite. There's nothing in the top drawer, or in the second or third, but in the very bottom, something  _rattles_ when he pulls it out. He blinks and glances over the pants, then starts carefully pulling them out, searching for anything beneath them. All he gets is the bottom of a drawer. Then, with a heavy frown, he pulls out the drawer above it, realizing that it's deeper than the bottom one.

He shoves the upper one back in and runs his fingers along the edges of the bottom of the drawer. And- there, a small dip in the wood. He tries to dig his fingers in, but can't manage to get a good grip. With a sigh, he glances over the top of the dresser, grabbing a pen lying there. Jabbing it into the groove, he manages to pry the piece of wood up enough so that he can grab it.

Seto gently puts it to the side, and sits back and stares. There are a few more journals, which he grabs and puts aside as well. They're probably coded, and he doesn't have the time to read through them. 

There are a few strange objects in the drawer, as well. He grabs what looks like a small bracelet, leaves making up the chains, with azure stones embedded all around. When he touches the stones, the glow a faint green. He jerks, glancing down at his amulet, then back to the bracelet. He'd have to ask Martin what it is.

For now, Seto clips it around his wrist, disappointed when nothing really happens. Going back to snooping, he picks up a wand. It's mostly made of what he thinks is quartz, a fairly rare stone, with dark opals embedded in a spiral down the handle. He tilts it back and forth, then tucks it in his pocket. He looks back down and picks up a large book. Deciding he'll read it later, as well, he piles it with the others. 

After that, there are a few bottles, all unlabeled, but all in different colors and shades. He tucks them into the zip-pockets of his backpack. 

With that drawer empty, he puts the slab of wood back and then the pants. He pulls open the rest of the drawers, checking their inside height, before deciding that he's probably got everything. He hears someone ascending the steps. With a sigh, he gathers the books and stands, turning towards Martin.

The angel doesn't step inside, just hovers at the door. After a long moment, he glances up to the skylight, then back to Seto. "We gotta go, Seto."

"I know." He follows Martin back down to the living room but lingers by the door. Seto turns to take one last glance back, eyes roaming over the room and furniture and walls for a moment. Then he sighs, turns, and runs after Martin.

He tucks the books away safe in one of the bundles on the tagalong, then clambers on. Martin takes off a moment later and the engines on the tagalong roar. Seto hunkers down, holding his backpack close. He presses his wrist to it, making sure the bracelet won't fall off.

"Hey," he calls, "Remember, I gotta go to the pharmacy."

Martin jerks slightly, looking back at him. He gives a thumbs up and points, hand drifting back and forth. Getting what he's asking, Seto leans over, glancing down at the winding road that goes to their house. He finds the main road, then squints at the distance and points in the general direction of the town. Martin changes direction, sweeping into a cloud. They emerge and Seto can make out the outlines of buildings. It rushes up on them quickly. 

He shifts, leaning over and watching for the store. After a moment, and making sure Martin is looking, he points down to it. 

Seto half-expects Martin to land pretty far away, and he would have to walk. But Martin seems to think that's a bad plan, and instead just starts descending. He ignores Seto's shouts of panic and lands directly in the middle of the street.

"Martin! What are you  _doing_ ," Seto hisses, glancing around at the people running in terror. The few cars out on the road swerve, disregarding lanes and laws to get away. Martin shrugs and starts tugging the tagalong towards the building. 

"Nobody's gonna do shit," Martin says, completely ignoring the screams he earns in return for talking. He glances to the left as a handful of people run for a car and clamber in, shouting at each other. "I don't think they're capable of it, honestly."

Seto grumbles, but quickly slides off the tagalong. He stands up, shouldering the backpack and hurrying for the door.

Inside is better. At first.

Then Martin ducks through the door. The cashier faints, the few people waiting in line bolt for the back of the store, and Martin says, "Huh," when he picks up a phone hanging nearby. "They just sell these?"

"I don't know." Seto shifts on his feet, then grabs Martin by the sleeve and starts dragging him through the rest of the store. "Come on, let's just hurry."

"Sure, sure. You go on." He stops to grab a neck pillow, tilting it back and forth. Seto hears the click, and then hears it start vibrating. Martin drops it on the floor and continues on, only to stop a few steps away to grab something else. Seto sighs and hurries to the back aisle, grabbing a few boxes of clean needle kits.Then he hurries over to the pharmacy, sliding in front of the counter. The pharmacist is cowering behind the counter. "Excuse me?"

"Uhm- I'm- I'm sorry, we're- closed-" He covers his head, ducking lower. 

"No, I need to pick up a prescription, please. It's for Seto Alikye. Just- I have the money for it." He grabs his backpack, unzipping the pocket and taking out the wad of cash he'd been saving for the prescription. "Can you just- go get it for me?"

"No, I-"

He hears a startled scream, answered by Martin saying something. He sounds annoyed. Seto gulps. Annoyed angels don't do any good. Feeling as if he'd brought a wild lion into the store, he pounds his fist on the counter, flinching at the crack of the cheap plastic. "If you get me the prescription, we'll leave!"

"You- You're  _with_ that thing?" he whispers, horrified. He finally gets to his knees, meeting Seto's eyes and paling even more. "Oh, god, you're a-"

"Prescription." Seto slams the wad of money on the counter. "Now, please."

"Jesus fucking- Christ-" He scrambles backward, and Seto sighs.

He glances over his shoulder to find Martin rattling a box. He meets Seto's eyes for a moment, then drops the box and steps over someone who had dropped to the floor. He comes up, and leans heavily on the counter, ignoring the groaning of it. 

"You best get my friend here what he wants," Martin practically purrs, and Seto has to shiver at the tone of voice. It doesn't sound right; it doesn't really sound like Martin. Not even in the very beginning, did he really speak like this. "Or I'm gonna throw a fucking fit."

"Of course, of course! I-I'll go- go get it." The pharmacist scrabbles to his feet, racing for the shelves of medicine.

"See, Seto? You just need to put a little magic behind it." Martin glances sideways at Seto. He steps back when he sees the bright purple of his irises. "It's not too hard. Should be easier for you, too, all things considering. I'll teach you how to do it, sometime."

"Fucking hell," Seto whispers, watching in horror as the man comes racing back. He sees a glint of purple clouding his pupils.

Almost mechanically, shakily, he sets the bag on the counter. Martin nods to Seto and gets up off the counter, giving the pharmacist a pat on the head and turning away. The resulting scream makes Seto flinch, but he doesn't look back. "That won't hurt him, right?"

"No. It's not technically mind control, either. It just... persuades them, to behave..." He waves a hand back and forth. "To get along easier, I guess. Junys uses it a lot, I know, but it's not something that's common."

"But you can do that?" Seto shoves the prescription into his bag, glancing over as a few cop cars come roaring around the corner.

"I'm a special case," Martin says, then adds, "Don't tell anyone."

"Yeah, no, I gotcha." Seto watches worriedly as the police approach, then glances over at Martin. The angel seems to be taking his time. "Uh, won't they-"

"We'll be fine. I won't let you get shot again." Martin gives the straps to the tagalong a firm tug and then spreads his wings, glancing at the cars as they screech to a stop. Doors open and weapons are drawn. Martin sighs and suddenly one of the cars flips over, blocking the first spray of bullets. Seto can  _feel_ the magic in the air shift. He blinks, realizing that there are very, very few threads on the Ground. 

Another car bursts into flames then explodes and launches itself into the air slightly. Martin chuckles, snap-flourishes his wings out and takes off directly from the ground.

The tagalong jerks, but follows dutifully. Seto turns around to watch the chaos. He heaves a sigh. This is it. There's- no going back after that, not really. He's not sure if he'd want to face the rest of the people on the island, either.

His brother filters into his thoughts and he quickly shakes his head, turning around as Martin rises in a swooping bell-curve, quickly rising above the cloud line. Seto tries to think about something else. He can't let himself- grieve. If he does, he's not sure if he'll ever move on. It's best to suppress, and make himself feel alright. He'll be fine. 

He'll be fine.

 

 


	9. the son of a "i'm so sorry"

A loud shrieking noise is what wakes Seto up, two days after he'd moved in.

He scrambles to get out of bed, momentarily forgetting how it's a circle, and falls on the floor. Groaning at the jarring of his ribs, which have only grown in more over the weeks, and he slowly gets to his feet. The grinding noise stops for a moment and he can hear Nitram loudly swearing. 

Curious, he tugs on a shirt and hesitantly exits his room. He pads over to the banister, looking down to find the brothers sitting on a few towels. Nitram is clutching the side of his head, while Martin fiddles with what looks like a handsaw. He mutters something and Nitram pulls his hand away, wiping blood on the towels. "Alright, the other one."

Martin hesitates. "Why do we even-?"

Nitram gives him a glare and gestures for him to go on. Martin hesitates, but then sighs and starts the saw back up. Seto watches Nitram lean forward, hair pulled back to the side, revealing the small horns poking out from his skull. 

Flinching at the sound of the saw, Seto goes back to his room to get dressed. Most of his stuff is still bundled away to the side. He hasn't bothered unpacking yet.

He grabs out clothes and quickly dresses, pausing after a second. He goes over to his stuff and kneels down, shuffling through one of the bags before he finds the mirror he had grabbed. His eyes make him wince, but nothing else has really changed. He pulls his hair back, fingers scratching over his scalp, looking for any sort of bumps. He hesitates, frowning, pressing harder on a slight bump, no bigger than the nail of his thumb. Just somewhat harder spot, a lighter raised blemish.

Seto quickly moves over to the other side, parting his hair, finding the same light spot. He frowns and lowers the mirror, baring his teeth. No visible change there. He doesn't think he could take his teeth reshaping, as well. Maybe the regular angels, with their sharp canines and front teeth. But not like Martin and Nitram. Not those layered, serrated things. 

Somewhat uneasy, he sets the mirror down and gets up, knowing he should probably show the spots to Martin. But they're- not really growing in yet, he guesses. Maybe it's an allergic reaction or something. There are a lot more unfamiliar plants and foods up in the Above. 

Deciding he'll save the concerns for later, he finishes getting ready and goes back downstairs, noticing that Nitram has left and Martin is cleaning up. He glances up when Seto reaches the bottom of the steps. Seto stops short at how  _tired_ Martin looks.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, but Seto cuts him off with, "Did you even sleep?"

"Um." Martin blinks at him and stands up from where he'd been kneeling. He bundles the towel up and shrugs. "Did you?"

"Yeah. I'm a normal person." He steps around the bottom edge of the steps, hand dropping from the rail. "Why even keep up these late nights? It's not like anyone's going to attack us, right?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Martin assures, bending down to pick up the saw. "I'm just... preparing in case of an emergency."

"Right. Well, I'm getting breakfast." Putting aside any further questions, Seto heads for the kitchen, hoping maybe they'd have fruit or something. After climbing onto two different counters, he finally finds the bowl. He grabs out a few plum-sized ones. Their once-bitter fruit is more sweet, now, almost sickeningly so. He eats them anyway, wondering if he's already changed that much for his taste to have been this affected.

Martin goes to put away everything, but he comes back out and grabs a fruit from the basket that Seto hasn't tried yet. Eating it in two bites, Martin mumbles something about going to the smith and then grabs two more and leaves. 

A few minutes later, as Seto is sitting there, he hears clanging start up. Somewhere upstairs, Nitram groans and mumbles something. Shrugging to himself, Seto gets up and heads outside, glancing around. The garden can wait for today; he's honestly growing bored of tending to it. He used to love gardening but had fallen out of it a few years back. 

Deciding to just wander, Seto heads down the path that leads to the smithing island. Once he reaches the woods, he steps off the path. He goes for the stream and squats down, grabbing a stone from the creekbed. It's a solid black stone, smooth and polished. He tucks it in his pocket and wipes his hand on his pants. His mother's bracelet jingles when he moves and he makes a mental note to put it away somewhere safe. 

Following the creek, he stops periodically to collect a few more rocks, then pauses at the sight of a crystal the size of his hand. It's heavy when he hefts it up, but not overly so. It's pink in color, somewhat see-through, and mostly jagged except for the larger crystals in the cluster. He turns it back and forth before standing back up and continuing on his way.

The woods are pretty quiet today except for the occasional birdsong. Not even the Above can fully escape from the grasp of winter. Seto cranes his neck as he passes a redwood tree, trying to find the top. He has the urge to try and climb it and thinks maybe it would be great to be able to fly and land on a tree. 

He pauses at that thought, feet hesitating, and then he comes to a stop, staring upwards. He'd never really had the urge to fly before. But he won't lie; it sounds appealing, now. Even the tagalong would work for the moment. 

Deciding he might ask Martin if he'd give him a ride anytime soon, Seto shakes the thoughts from his head and continues on. Eventually, the trees drop away and he's in the field again. He glances around, noticing the smoke from the house to the west. He must have walked pretty far without realizing it. It's hard to remember that he's on a floating island when it's so big.

Shifting the crystal to his other hand, he starts heading through the field, parting the grass with his arm. His foot suddenly sinks a few inches into the mud and he grimaces, pulling it out and shaking it. Stepping around the muddy spot, he tries to continue on, only for his feet to start sinking again. Sighing in exasperation, he tugs up his pant legs and decides to just stick it out. He'll clean his shoes later. It's not like they're expensive. 

Then, when he takes another step, the ground gives out from under him.

With a startled scream, he goes tumbling, landing on the spongy ground. Frustration starting to claw at him, he slowly gets up, pulling his leg from the mud. His shoe stays underground. He twists around to look, finding that the very edge of it is sticking out. He hesitates, then slowly reaches out for it.

Nitram's voice suddenly stops him. He looks up, squinting to see the angel on the edge of the field. Nitram whistles for Martin, but there's no response. 

Seto starts to get back up off the ground, brushing the mud off of him. "What?" he calls, turning his head as if to hear Nitram better. The whistle he had no problem hearing. But Nitram's voice is stolen away by the wind before it even reaches him. 

He takes a few stumbling steps forward, grunting when the mud tries to sink him further into the ground. He looks around, realizing he'd disturbed a lot of the grass in his struggling. Sighing, he pulls himself out again, try to head in Nitram's direction. 

The ground gives way again and suddenly he's sunk up to his thigh. 

A sinking feeling in his stomach, he glances up to find Nitram gone. "H-hey! Hey, wait, I think I'm stuck!"

There isn't a response. The wind howls across the field, rolling the grass in waves. Seto waits a moment, then two, and then huffs. He tries to pull himself out again, but when he puts his hands to the ground, they start sinking as well. He shoves the crystal into his pocket and zips it - thank god that angels have the sense to put zippers  _everywhere_ \- and pulls his hand free of the mud. Then he tries again, spreading his fingers to try and distribute his weight better. It works, if only slightly, and he manages to pull himself out so that his knees are above the ground.

A whistle suddenly cuts the silence, followed by another. Seto tilts his head, but determines that it's only Nitram calling out. 

Sighing, Seto tries again to pull himself out of the sludge, and he manages to get to somewhat solid ground. Both his shoes are gone and he's  _soaked_ and freezing, but he's out of the mud. 

Deciding to crawl forward until the mud is gone, he slowly, carefully starts forward, only for his hands to sink down up to his elbows. Letting out a startled scream, he tries to clamber to his feet, falling over and splashing into what's more or less just water. But unlike the previous times he got stuck, he keeps sinking.

Panicking, he bites his lip, then screams for help. He can't whistle; that's out of the question. He pauses to listen for any returning calls, but there's only the wind. He shouts again, and suddenly an angel is arching over the trees. Moving, Seto can't tell who it is. He manages to get one hand out of the mud to wave, glad he'd pressed the grasses down in his struggle.

As the angel comes closer, Seto realizes it's Nitram. He has a large set of wings on, larger than what Seto thinks is enough to pull him from the ground. "Hey! Hey, I'm- I'm, uh, sinking," he shouts. 

Nitram slows above him, hovering for a second, then reeling backward in the air. "Stay still, Seto, just- Stay still." He looks worried. That can't be good.

Trying to keep his own panic at bay, Seto glances around, then points off to the left. "Over there is dry, I think. I came from that way."

"Seto," Nitram's voice is sharp, making Seto freeze. "I said do not  _move_. You are on a sinkhole. There's nothing below you."

"I- what?"

Nitram circles then glances anxiously towards the house. He whistles again, wings beating him backward in the air. Angels can't seem to hover in one place.

"Okay, I- I am going to toss you a rope. You grab on, but please try not to move much more than that."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nitram drops the coil of rope, trying to stay still in the air long enough for Seto to grab it. He reaches for it, but the wind moves and Nitram has to lurch to the left to counter-balance. The rope end goes swerving off into the grass. Nitram pulls it up and drops it again.

This time, Seto manages to snag it. He calls to Nitram. The angel hesitates, then slowly starts lifting away from the ground. The jolt hurts Seto's arms and he flinches, pulling his other hand from the mud and grabbing onto the rope. 

Once he's mostly out of the mud, he starts trying to pull himself up the rope. Nitram starts flying backward, metal clicking and scraping at the awkward, circular movements he's making to mostly hover. 

And suddenly, he's free. 

A scream is ripped from him as he's flung a good ten feet forward. Nitram dives, suddenly, catching him before he can hit the ground. Seto glances down when Nitram starts swearing up and down. The angel's feet have touched the ground and have already sunk into his ankles.

Terror quickly returning, Seto opens his mouth to maybe call for Martin's help, when Nitram heaves his wings down. They lurch into the air, trailing sludge, and then they're free. He lets out a relieved breath as the field drops away. Now that he's in the air, he sees how the area he'd been in is sunk lower into the ground, visibly drooping. "What's under that?" he asks and Nitram flips around to look for a moment, making them sail backward, unpropelled through the air for a second.

Then he flips around again, making Seto's stomach lurch. "Nothing. We have to fix that part of the island; it is falling apart. The rock underneath it has eroded."

"So- after that mud, the island just- ends? Like, the ocean is after that?"

"Pretty much. I should have warned you, but I did not think that you would wander so far." Nitram shifts him in his arms and starts descending. "The forest is okay, but try not to wander through the field again."

"Yeah, no," Seto says, knees shaking when Nitram sets him down, "I- I won't."

"Just- go get cleaned up," Nitram says, already starting to pull his shoes off. He takes them both by the heel. "And I will get you new shoes, not to worry about that." 

[...]

Seto doesn't think a shower has ever felt so good. 

Still shaking from the thought of how he'd almost died,  _again_ , for like a third or  _fourth_ time up here, he scrubs the mud from himself as best he can in the giant shower. The nozzles are at least at his hips, so he has no problem reaching those. But the shower head needs adjusting. Except, he can't reach it. So he has to awkwardly stand against the wall to get under the water.

The bottles aren't labeled. He isn't sure what's what, even after having so many showers already. He does his best to wash his hair, but there's no conditioner. He guesses the clearer soap is body wash. Hopefully, it is. It should be. 

He's awkwardly reaching around to wash his back when he feels the bump. Seto freezes, hand slowly trailing down his spine.

He had first noticed the bump on his spine when he was really little. Jordan didn't have one, so Seto had gone to his mom about it. She'd been concerned, and worried, and had to leave to make a call. A few days later, he was taken to the doctor. They said they hadn't found anything wrong. But he thinks back, and can't remember what they had said it was.

Now, it's bigger. As if he has a small fist curled under his skin. Pressing on it makes him wince. It's like the pain of his growing ribs, of his growing  _everything_.

He remembers the moment in the fairy ring when he'd first brought Martin there. The angel had tugged his shirt up to check on his freshly-healed wounds, and Seto had seen the stump. He'd heard Jordan say something about it. He knows the brothers had tails. 

Simon and Baki don't. None of the other angels do. Martin had said to Jordan how they cut them off at birth. He wonders if that's true.

Seto drops his hand, then after a moment reaches up to feel along his head. He can't feel any bumps as of yet, but they'll start growing soon. He isn't looking forward to it.

He should probably tell Nitram and Martin. Then he thinks back to earlier in the morning, at the horrible sound of the saw on bone, at the blood, at Martin's complaining. He thinks about the stumps they have, and how  _painful_ it must be to cut off an extension of the spine.

He swallows thickly and reaches up to scrub at his hair again. The soap gets in his eyes and he quickly puts his face under the stream of water, shivering when he realizes it's starting to get cold. He's already been in the shower for a good hour, getting every nook and cranny free of mud. It was even in his hair, on his face. He tries not to think about what would have happened if Nitram hadn't noticed him.

Sighing, Seto finally reaches for the taps, twisting them off. He wrings out his hair a bit, then reaches out of the curtain and blindly grabs for the towel. Dries himself off, gets dressed, and then goes out to the living room. Nitram is making a late lunch, humming quietly to himself. He's washed up, as well, but Seto guesses he didn't really have all that much to clean. He feels bad for a moment for hogging the shower. "Where's Martin?"

"Still out at the smith. Would you go get him for me? Lunch is about to be done." As if to reinforce his point, a timer goes off. Nitram quiets it and goes to pull something out of the oven. 

"Yeah, I'll go get him." Come to think of it, Seto hasn't heard any clanging in the recent hours. He leaves, pulling on a too-large pair of shoes by the door and the flight jacket Martin had given him a while ago. The wind whips at him the moment he steps outside.

Careful of any spongy ground, he makes his way to the smithing island, pausing at the stairs. Finally, he takes a deep breath and starts heading down. This time, he doesn't crouch to slide down the stairs. He stops before the bridge, though. Calling Martin's name, Seto waits, but when there's no response, he hesitantly starts across it. He keeps a white-knuckled grip on the rails, shivering as he continues.

Finally, his feet are back on solid ground. He hurries away from the edge, walking around the side of the building. The area with the furnace and anvil is empty, tools and scraps of metal abandoned. Frowning, Seto goes to the door, pushing it open to find all the lights on inside. Martin isn't in the main area, so he heads to the back, again taking a bit to gape at everything in the workshop. He passes by a set that looks like it would fit him. He pauses and backtracks, reaching up to gently run his hands over the leading edge. Biting his lip, and glancing around the empty room, he grabs one of the primary feathers and starts pulling it outward. It's a beautiful silver, black engravings winding across the feather tips. He pauses at those, thinking back to the black and gold feather still hidden in his room back home. He shakes the thought away.

Eyes still trained on the wing, he glances around, then grabs a nearby chair. He pulls it over and stands on it, grabbing the wing shoulders and tugging, wondering if they're stuck up there. The hook slides down smoothly, and he stops the pair at his height. After a moment's hesitation, he takes one and gently extends it. The tips reach the opposite wall. Judging by the size and the delicately-crafted, thin feathers, Seto figures this might be a first or second set for a younger angel. He turns so the shoulder of it settles on his back, and glances down its length. 

Heart aching, Seto shakes his head and folds the wing up, listening to the smooth sounds it makes, the way it just glides back and forth. He lets the hook raise back towards the ceiling and then climbs down, pushing the chair back to where it had been.

Seto continues through the shop before he reaches the back room. The door is partially cracked, but not enough to see in. He quietly pushes it open, pausing when he sees Martin slumped at his desk, dead asleep. He doesn't snore, but his breathing is fairly heavy like he's sighing repeatedly in his sleep. A new pair of wings are on his back, sharp and sleek, bladed edges glinting dangerously in the light. Seto looks over them for a moment, seeing the small slits where the blades unsheath. He carefully walks around them, going to Martin's side before shaking his shoulder. But he pauses, noticing the books Martin is sleeping on.

The anatomy book that Adam gave him is open to a diagram of a human, and then there are sketches penciled in over it. More ribs, and then a heart, above the stomach, encircled in an elongated ribcage, cushioned on either side by longer lungs. Seto glances over it, then at a sketch poking out from under Martin's arm. He tugs it out, hesitating at the wing sketches. Notes are written in a language he doesn't know, but he can tell what the measurements are. With a somewhat giddy feeling, he realizes that the measurements are pretty close to Seto's own. 

Another sketch on a different page shows a wing port, taken apart, detailing each piece and mechanism inside it. Seto sets the books down quickly, standing on his toes to look at the third that Martin is sleeping on. It's a simple picture of an angel's anatomy - the one Martin had shown him previously. Another notebook has more notes written down on it.

Deciding he probably shouldn't snoop more than he has to, Seto gently reaches out and shakes Martin's shoulder to wake him up.

Martin sits up with a jolt; the wings jerk and clack against the desk. Seto just barely dodges. "Wh- Wh- Oh, Seto." Martin gathers his notes and books quickly. "What are you doing here?"

Somewhat disappointed Martin is hiding the books from him, Seto explains that Nitram wants him to the house for lunch. Martin nods and leans back, yawning and stretching. "Sure, sure." He stands and glances down. "What happened to your shoes?"

"They got stuck in the sinkhole."

At Martin's nearly-terrified look, which only lasts a second, Seto explains as they go back. They're almost to the house when he finishes. Martin mutters some sort of apology - he'd been asleep, hadn't heard anything. His wings shuffle awkwardly. Seto glances at them again. They're a fighting set, definitely, but they aren't as bulky as the previous ones. They seem much lighter and are made of a faintly purple material, but when not caught in the light it looks grey. They seem to be... less. Seto doesn't recognize the shape but thinks they're probably some sort of fast-flying bird. He's tempted to ask about them but holds his tongue.

Nitram looks over when they come inside. His eyes instantly gravitate towards the wings. "You finished them," he says, "They are new?"

Martin says something in another language. Nitram sighs and mumbles back as he sets the table. Seto glances between the two, sitting down as Nitram hands him a bowl.

He plays with his food as they talk, feeling somewhat left out. After a long moment, he sighs, sets down his spoon, and says, "Uhm. Hey, I actually, uh, had a question."

Martin glances over from where he is at the stove. He comes over and sits down, joining him and Nitram. "If it's about the shoes, don't worry, I'll go get you some tomorr-"

"I think I'm growing a tail?"

Nitram's spoon drops to the table, but Martin's goes to the floor. There's a startled silence for a long moment. They give him identical wide-eyed expressions. "I- I'm sorry?" Martin sputters, echoed by Nitram.

"Well, I've always, uh, had this bump on my spine. The doctors said it wasn't anything to be worried about, but it's growing. Also, there are like... bumps on my head." He reaches up to feel for them. He finds them easily. "I know you said you all grow tails when you're young, but like, I don't think I really wanna cut mine off?"

"What did you tell him?" Nitram asks, directing a glare towards Martin.

"I- His brother was asking, I just- I told them the first thing that came to mind. I couldn't just-"

"Wait, it's normal, right? I get the horns aren't, but-"

Nitram holds up a hand, effectively shutting the both of them up. He takes a deep breath, then says, "Martin, are you  _sure_ Brian is his father?"

"Yeah, no, there were- pictures and everything. I wouldn't lie about this, I-"

"Then  _why_ ," Nitram raises his voice above Martin's. Seto shrinks back. " _Why_ is he growing these?"

"I don't know!" Martin stands, throwing his hands out. "I don't know!"

Nitram stands as well, but paces away, reaching up to run his hands through his hair. They leave his head; ghosting around a curve of a horn that isn't there. Probably an old habit. The brothers are silent. Seto awkwardly stands as well, pushing his chair back in.

After a long second, Martin says, "When it grows, we have to cut it off." It's more to Seto than Nitram, but his brother whirls on him as if he'd just drawn a gun.

"We absolutely will  _not_ ," Nitram shouts, and Seto backs up rapidly, eyes growing wide. It's strange to see Nitram blow up. Even in all of their fights, Nitram always seemed mostly level-headed, except for the big fight right before they had first tried to heal him. "It is his body, Martin, you can not just go and-"

"And what? Risk our lives? Risk  _his_ life? We get along fine without our own tails, he's lived his whole life without one! What does it matter?"

" _Seto'_ _s_ opinion matters." Nitram paces to the right. "It is not your call to make, Martin. The tail is not even showing yet, neither are his horns. We-"

"We  _what_ , Nitram? What are we going to do, hm?" Martin flips his hand, shifting on his feet. "It's hard enough to keep the secret of a halfie in our house as is, much less an  _eastern_ halfie, and-"

"Do you forget where we are from?" Nitram shouts and Seto can feel the sudden influx of magic, and he sees sparks forming around Nitram's fists. He quickly backs up, fearing a fight will break out. " _Do_ you?"

"How could I?" Martin's voice cracks, surprisingly, "I know you blame me! It's my fault, I know that, don't  _fucking_ keep reminding me!"

Nitram points, and in a very hushed, almost deadly, voice, he hisses, "I will remind you because I feel that you forget. You are losing yourself in this country, Martin. You are not the brother I grew up with. You are not yourself."

Martin doesn't seem to have anything to say to this. Seto freezes when Martin glances towards him. His gaze is distant, despite the anger. Seto doesn't think it's really aimed at him.

After a long, long moment, Martin takes a deep breath and seems to release most of his aggression with a sigh. He doesn't look at either of them when he says, "Fine. Keep the fucking tail. Let the kid be our death."

He leaves quickly. The front door slams behind him.


	10. you know that it's a snake eat snake world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we slither and serpentine through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is taken from "eating like kings" by shawn james
> 
> i've been waiting to write this chapter for a pretty long time, so im relieved to finally have it done

Seto doesn't see Martin for the rest of the day, and then on into the next. Nitram stays scarce, as well, and he gets a feeling that they're avoiding him. So he stays in his room and unpacks. The tapestries get pinned up along the ceiling, and some on the walls. The ones that he doesn't have room for go to the bed - it's more or less a nest already. There's plenty of shelf space for everything else, but he gets through maybe a few minutes of putting those away before he gives up.

Sighing, he stands up, glancing around the room. A desk is on the wall next to the door, with the bed across from it. A fairly long bookshelf sits on the wall opposite of the closet. There's a skylight, but a glance outside shows that the island is drifting through a cloud. A pretty dark one, at that.

He stands there staring upwards for a moment, then shakes his head and goes to his bed. Seto grabs the backpack from the floor, pulling out everything in it. Electronics can go in the bedside table. His phone, he turns on and checks the date. He would be on school break by now. He'd be setting up decorations for holidays, he'd be out messing around in the snow with Adam. He and Jordan would settle down in front of their TV and watch old movies that neither of them really like, but they make fun of them anyway and throw popcorn at the screen whenever someone does something stupid, and-

Seto sniffs, scrubs a hand over his face, and shoves all the thoughts away. He can't change anything, now. Jordan's gone, Adam disappeared, and he's stuck up here with two incredibly unstable angels. He just has to- get over it and move on.

 

_"We'll be okay, Seto," Jordan says one night when the distant explosions of land being dredged up reach their house, all the way across the ocean. They both flinch at one that sounds too close. The purging of the land is the worst part. The bombs dropped aren't exactly anything that humans could have ever hope of making. Not without magic._

_"They're going to get us, too," he whispers, curling closer at another_ du-thwum _of a bomb hitting the Ground. The picture frame on the wall tilts slightly to the left a few minutes later. "Just like Mom."_

_Jordan doesn't really say anything to this, but his arm pulls Seto closer, and they sit in the dark, in their basement, until the sounds stop. Seto glances up, meeting Jordan's bright pink eyes. It's the only source of light. For a moment, they're silent, then Jordan says, struggling, as if wrangling the words from his throat, "No they won't. I won't let them."_

 

The whole house suddenly lurches, sending Seto tumbling off the bed with a shout. Picking himself up off the ground, he looks towards the window, wondering if maybe they had run into something. He only sees churning grey mist.

Seto gets to his feet just when the room starts tipping. His socks don't get enough traction and he slips, just barely catching himself on the edge of the bed. "Nitram?" he calls, getting back up and hurrying to his door.

The doorframe supports him at another tilt of the house. He gets knocked against the wall, but then he hurries to the steps, using the railing to the best of his ability. "Hey, what's going on?"

Nobody answers. He cautiously makes his way down the stairs, nearly falling when the island tilts again. The living room is empty, as is the kitchen. He pushes open Martin's door, but the room is dark. A knock on the washroom and no answer; it's unlocked when he checks.

They must be at the smith. Seto grunts when he starts sliding again but uses it to his advantage to get to the front door. he tugs on the shoes Nitram had quickly bought him, and then the flight jacket. But the moment he opens the door, the wind rips it from his hand, making it slam against the side of the house. He yelps in surprise when the island tilts, and he goes stumbling outside. The porch steps are all but invisible, but he manages to shut the door and stumble down them. He calls out for the brothers again but gets no response.

Seto turns in a slow circle, eyes wide at the dark cloud they're in. The vapor churns as if boiling, wind whipping at his skin. He's quickly soaked, but he continues on, searching for the path through the garden. He has to stop and crouch down when a particularly harsh wind starts making him stumble to the left. 

Fear settling in his gut, he looks around again, trying to find the main path. He's not on the right one, he doesn't think. Or maybe he is, it's not like he can tell.

Forgetting the path, he starts picking his way through the garden, towards the looming shapes of the trees he can just barely make out. 

"Martin?" the sound is ripped from his mouth, making it as if he'd never even called in the first place. He grimaces, but purses his lips and tries to whistle. He doesn't get far.

Grunting when the island starts tipping, he crouches down, grabbing onto the grass. A shiver of panic runs down his spine when the island  _keeps_ tipping. Could it- Could it flip upside down?

Cursing, scrambling uphill, he goes to call for one of the twins again, when suddenly a hand snatches him up by the back of his neck. He screams, twists around, and collides with Martin's chest.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" Martin shouts, staggering to the left when the island drops back in place.

"I- Everything started t-" Martin puts a hand over his mouth and shifts him into a somewhat more comfortable position. He glances over his shoulder, wings flaring when the island starts shifting. He hurries towards the house, and suddenly Nitram drops down in front of them from the roof, wingless, yelping when they nearly collide. "Sorry, couldn't see you-"

"What the fuck is up with the weights, Nitram?" Martin shouts, and suddenly Seto is being passed to Nitram's arms. "Get him inside."

"Do you have the shop?" Nitram calls back as Martin turns. The angel waves over his shoulder, and then is gone. 

Nitram drops him inside the moment the door closes. "Seto, in the kitchen, there are locks on the inside of the drawers, can you-"

"Yeah- yeah, I got it." Seto hurries to the drawers, glancing over his shoulder to find Nitram unlocking slits on either side of a window. He pulls boards out from the wall, swinging them and securing them into place. The hinges just barely poke out from the wall. Seto shakes his head and pulls out one drawer, finding the latch easily. It's more or less like a baby lock, which he finds funny. He hears the slamming of the boards and hurries to get the drawers done. Nitram locks the last one for him.

The island tilts and the fridge door suddenly is swinging open. Nitram slams it shut, locking the straps in place. He takes a moment to look at a gauge on the top of the fridge. He taps it, frowns, then glances around. As the island starts moving again, he starts hurrying for the table chairs, grabbing them and arranging them beneath the table. He paces around the table, drawing a large circle on the top. It seems simple enough, from what Seto can see from where he's trying not to fall over. A touch activates it with a flash. 

As the floor becomes more and more sloped, Seto has to go down to his knees. "It won't tip over, right?"

Nitram's sideways glance is all the answer he needs. Fear settles like rocks in his gut. Nitram seems to pick up on this. "It's tipped before," he says quickly, going for the shelves and drawing a similar run on the side of it. "The furniture is all bolted down, not to worry about that. But it could flip. Something is wrong with the weights. I had- forgotten about them when Martin left. It is my fault this storm will be bad."

Seto swallows and yelps when it tips far enough to make him slide into the stove. Somehow, Nitram is still on his feet. He carefully makes his way over and stretches a hand down towards him. "Here, come here."

He gratefully latches onto Nitram's wrist, letting the angel lead him to the door beneath the stairs. "The basement is the safest place in a storm, just stay here until we get back."

The lights suddenly flicker, making him pause. He unlocks the deadbolt and ushers Seto down the stairs. A snap and light floods the stairwell. Seto glances back as he descends to find a soft glow coming from Nitram's hand, like a little ball of light. 

He isn't paying attention and trips, but instead of pitching down a few more hard stairs, he lands on a cushioned floor. Nitram has the decency to laugh at him. Seto glances back to watch Nitram place the ball of light into a small circle on the wall and a light suddenly turns on, lining the bottom of the walls. Seto glances around, up at the two strange hammock-like things hanging in the center of the room that are swinging back and forth wildly, then at the two doors opposite of where he's sitting. A table is in one corner of the room, but there aren't any chairs. The floor, walls, and ceiling are all padded. It reminds him of an asylum cell. There aren't even any windows.

Suddenly claustrophobic, he turns back to Nitram, but the angel is already heading up the stairs. "Just stay here, Martin and I will be back. I have to go help him tie down the shop. Get under the table so you can hold on if it tips."

"But-"

"We'll be fine." Assurances said, Nitram quickly goes back outside. Seto hears the door shut. 

He gets up and wanders towards one of the doors. His hand settles on the doorknob just as the island suddenly snaps. He yelps and slams onto the floor. Taking Nitram's advice, he scrambles under the table, just in time to grab onto one of its legs as the floor sways even further. Thunder crackles outside, sending shivers through him, making the hairs on his neck rise. He forgoes holding on to covering his ears. He can feel the thunder in his  _bones_.

Another drum of thunder, and then suddenly everything is swinging. He has just enough time to cover his head, then everything is upside-down. He picks himself off the top of the table, rubbing his chin where he had hit the wood. He glances around with wide eyes at the room.

The island tipped. The island is upside  _down_.

Fear churns in his gut. Martin had his wings, but- but Nitram-

Oh god, Nitram didn't have wings on.

Martin would go after his brother, for sure. He'd probably just pitch himself over the edge, and god  _knows_ what happened last time he was in a storm. If they're gone, then Seto- Then he's on his own up here. He's  _stuck_ up here. 

"I wanna go home," he whispers, sitting in the stillness. His voice cracks when he repeats it. "I wanna go  _home_."

Suddenly, the island rightens itself, sending him sprawling, only to start listing again. It settles for a moment until it starts spinning. He clutches to a table leg and prays to whatever god out there that he makes it out of the storm alive.

Suddenly, the door slams open. Relief floods him and he sighs as two heavy sets of footsteps come thundering down the stairs. "-didn't you  _tell_ me the weights were broken?" Martin snaps, "We didn't have enough time to prepare, and-"

"I forgot! The rainy season does not start until long after the solstice, and I did not think it was that pressing, compared to every other  _fucking_ problem we have. We are so _far_ behind on work, that I-" 

"It's no thanks to you," Martin snaps, and it seems to end the argument. He glances around, eyes landing on Seto. "You alright down here, Seto?"

"Uh-" He's about to get out from under the table when thunder rolls again, making the three of them flinch. Nitram mutters something about muting spells and goes for one of the doors. He unlocks it with a tug of magic. "Yeah, uh, I'm fine. When's the storm going to end?"

Martin grumbles something and Nitram heaves a sigh. "Our radio does not  _work_ Martin, you already knew that. That one is not my fault." Then, under his breath, " _None_ of this is my fault."

Martin shoots a burning glare at his back, but Nitram doesn't notice it. Seto shifts uncomfortably, latching onto a table leg when the island starts tipping again. Then it keeps going. Lights flicker, thunder sounds a second later. Seto would cover his ears, but he's struggling enough, sitting on the wall, ready for the island to snap either way.

A glance over at the brothers show that they're fine. Martin is pacing on the wall and Nitram is still somewhere in the closet, but he clambers out a moment later with a small box. He fiddles with it for a second. On the next roll of thunder, Seto feels the sudden influx of magic, a push, pull, and then the thunder is cut short. He breathes a sigh of relief. 

After a long moment of silence, Martin asks, "How long have they been out?"

"Since before you- left." 

This earns Nitram another glare and Seto represses a sigh. They just can't seem to take a break from fighting each other. 

"Right, as if I went on a peaceful fucking  _day_ trip." Martin turns to face his brother, flinging his arm out and hissing, "It's not as if my own brother knocked me from the fucking sky! You tried to kill me."

"You were in the wrong and you  _know_ it!" Nitram growls, going towards him. He pokes him in the chest, ignoring the way Martin's wings bristle. " _You_ could have declined the challenge. It was not supposed to be to the death, why would you even think that?"

Martin starts to retort, but Nitram cuts him off, shoving him backward. "It is all  _your_ fault, all of it. You are in the wrong, L- Martin, and you dragged me down with you."

They both go silent, stock still, and Seto has a feeling they're having another silent conversation. Finally, Martin turns away, paces, and then is flung to the side when the island snaps itself upright. He growls and picks himself up off the floor. Seto scrambles back under the table from where he'd been flung out from beneath it and glances towards where Nitram is also getting to his feet. 

Seto sighs and moves to stand up, catching Martin's attention. He's about to say something, keep them from killing each other, when suddenly everything is on its side. He slams into the wall, gasping at the pain in his ribs because of it, and then slides to the ceiling as the island keeps tilting. Nitram and Martin are almost casually pacing along with it. Martin sighs and starts over to Seto to pick him up off the floor, but then they're right-side up, then sideways, and spinning slowly, and Seto feels  _sick_. He's never been motion sick before, and he doesn't like the feeling. 

Then the island tilts, tips, and flips around again. And then it does it a second time, third, and fourth. Seto slowly opens his eyes, wondering when he had stopped noticing the spinning. Everything is fuzzy and he slumps to the side, blinking furiously, trying to get his bearings. For one wild second, he isn't sure where he is. The walls have closed in; he's in a small room, the floors and walls are padded, and it's darker than the main basement, but then a shadow falls over him. He turns around to realize he's in the stairwell on the ceiling. "Seto, are you alright?" Martin asks, coming towards him. 

"Um-" He tries to stagger to his feet. Martin grabs his arms when he falls. "I, uh, maybe?"

Martin gives him a weird look and leads him back out to the basement. Seto stumbles over his own feet. Everything is swaying, but Nitram is standing perfectly still and Martin doesn't seem to be moving, either. The island must be comfortable where it's at. 

Seto plops down near the corner, not yet ready to get back under the table. While the walls and floor are padded, it's fairly uncomfortable. His head hurts. He leans forward to cover his eyes. Thank god the thunder is- on silent. He tips forward, and Nitram holds him upright as the island starts sliding. It stops at an angle. When did Nitram sit down enxt to him?

"So do you guys, just- roll with it?" he asks, earning a glance from Nitram. Martin is grabbing something from the closet. "Like, uhm... Like-"

"We are pretty good at staying upright," Nitram says, and takes the small bag Martin hands him. The other angel sits down in front of Seto. Nitram shuffles through the bag before grabbing out a small packet and ripping it open with his teeth. 

Something suddenly stings on his head and he yelps, leaning away. "The fuck-"

The movement has his vision swimming, black spots across it. When he comes to, Nitram is already done doing  _whatever_ to his head. "Do you have any dizziness?" he asks.

"I don't feel good," he admits, holding his stomach. He blinks out sparks in his eyes, like glitter around the edges. He tries to look at them, but can't seem to completely catch even one under his gaze. 

Martin says something and Nitram replies, and suddenly Seto is being turned slightly. There's a hand on his head. Nitram gently feels for a bump, somewhere up above his forehead. "It is hit where the horn is growing," he says, and Seto blinks at the blue drops of blood hitting the floor. He forgot he doesn't bleed red anymore. He wonders why angels have blue blood. He hasn't seen either of the brothers blush, so he wonders if they turn blue when they do that.

The house above them groans and he's suddenly being picked up. The angel walks along the walls as it turns. Seto closes his eyes. He's jostled, and a vocie says, "Hey, don't go to sleep yet. You can later. Do you know your name?"

He blinks, then says, "Yeah, uh, Seto. Alikye."

"Do you know my name?"

"I'm not stupid," he mutters, blinking at the stars in his vision, trying to see past the black spots. They're slowly fading, replaced by a horrible pounding in his head. Or maybe that was already there and he just hadn't noticed it.

"That is not his name."

"I dunno, what  _is_ your name?" He blinks up at who is holding him, squinting. Orange eyes, dark hair, and a glint of silver. "Martin."

The angel lets out what might be a sigh of relief. Suddenly, Seto is being put on something that's swinging. He sits up quickly, making his stomach twist into knots, and holds back bile. A hand presses him back down. "The hammocks will keep you from falling around," Martin says, and suddenly there's a zipping noise that is  _loud_. Seto curls up and covers his ears, ignoring the way shade is suddenly cast over him. He takes a moment to recover, then glances around. He's lying down in one of the hammocks, which apparently zip up. 

He blinks once, twice, tries to form a question, but eventually gives up.

[...]

When he wakes up, his head is still in pain. He groans and shifts, looking around. It's completely dark, and for a terrifying second, he can't remember where he is. 

Then he sees two eyes open, bright orange, illuminating some of the room. Right, it's storming out. He's in the hammock. That would explain the weird net-like thing draped over him. 

"How are you feeling?" Martin asks, and Seto sees the glow coming from his mouth, shining through his teeth.

"Like shit," he mutters, equally as quiet. "Where's Nitram?"

Martin's eyes flick down, momentarily illuminating Nitram sleeping slumped over his brother's legs. "It's been a day or two. You've woken a few times, but this is the first time you've really said anything."

Seto furrows his brow, but even that hurts. He doesn't think it's healthy to sleep when you have a concussion. He's not really sure. He reaches up to feel his head, but Martin warns him not to. "You hit one of your horns. Those hurt like a bitch, especially newly-grown ones. It's only bone, there. Happens a lot in fledglings in the east."

"The east, huh? But- I thought Brian-"

"I was- thinking about that actually. Do you know if your mother was fully human?"

Seto goes still for a long, long time. Finally, he scrunches his eyes shut, feeling for the bracelet still around his wrist. Under his touch, it glows slightly. The next object to comfort him is his amulet. "I don't know," he whispers.

Martin is silent for a while. His eyes close for a moment, then open. "In the east," he begins, "Halfies are... common. The only line between angel and human there is that the angels from the east don't stop growing. A lot of the humans get port surgery, even."

Seto glances over, momentarily down to where he sees Nitram's outline. "Is that where you're from?"

Martin doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. Eventually, he sighs, as if pained, and says, "I fucked up. And I ruined both of our lives. Nitram is right to blame me, he really is." Martin's hand moves as if to go over the curve of where one of Nitram's horns should be. Martin looks up towards Seto, orange eyes, for once, unguarded. He looks like he did back when he'd admitted to killing one of his brothers.

Seto's stomach goes plummeting, just as the island starts spinning again. Martin refuses to meet his gaze. Eventually, as if desperate for anything to break the silence, he says, "You're starting to glow. You eat so much fruit, by the time you're an adult, your skin will be like a fucking lightbulb."

Seto asks, "It's because of what you said that one night, wasn't it? That's why you had to leave?"

Martin sighs. Seto thinks he believes that he'd said too much. But surprisingly, the angel quietly says, "I-... There was this group I was in. They- They had their own agenda, everyone there was only there for themselves. I had my reasons," he says quickly before Seto can even ask, "That I like to keep private. But, well."

He trails off for a moment, as if remembering. Seto doesn't need to be able to read him like Nitram can. He can visibly see how upset Martin is because of it. Seto opens his mouth to say that he doesn't have to tell, not really, he's only curious. 

Then Martin says, "My brother's name was Micah. He was the-" And he pauses. Shakes his head. Shifts when the island tilts slightly, makes sure Nitram doesn't roll in his sleep. "One of the group's higher-ups had me destroy an island. I was under the impression that there were western Generals there, but..."

He glances down at Nitram. "I almost got him, too," he says, quietly, "I was on my way out, there was hardly any time left, and I ran into Nitram. We- we were the only ones that got out unscathed."

Seto sits back in horror, glancing down at Nitram, then meeting Martin's eyes again. They both stay silent.

The island slows down and stops spinning.

Eventually, struggling for words, Seto mutters, "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be done about it now." Seto can almost see Martin shoveling his walls back into place from where they'd collapsed. He shifts into a more comfortable position, one arm resting along Nitram's chest. The angel turns in his sleep and murmurs unintelligibly. "It happened. I fucked up. And now I have to live with it for the rest of my god-forsaken life."

"I-" 

Martin holds up a hand. Seto closes his mouth. "Seto, I understand you want to comfort me. But- Don't bother. I deserve to feel...  _shitty_ about this until I'm dead. Nothing will make it better."

Seto falls quiet. He rolls onto his side, still facing Martin. His headache is growing worse, and he's tempted to fall back asleep. The air is tinged with awkwardness, at least from his side.  

Suddenly, Martin says, "I'm worried."

"For- what?"

A moment, a breath, then Martin says, "I don't think you should be up here. It's not that I don't- want you here, but it's that... The western Above has a way of changing people. And I am- worried. About what it could do to you."

Seto works for something to say. He doesn't get far. The admission takes him by surprise, and he's left floundering.

Eventually, Martin sighs what might have been a laugh a long time ago. A ghost of one. "What are the chances, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Me, crashlanding in your backyard.  _Your_ backyard, not anybody else's."

"Yeah, they're-" He pauses. "They're... ridiculous."

 Martin goes to say something, but the island starts tipping again. This time it keeps going. Martin sighs and shifts so that he can press his foot against the table leg, holding onto Nitram.

"Why doesn't he sleep in the other hammock?"

"Don't know," Martin admits, but Seto hears his heartbeats pick up, and he realizes he's lying, "He never liked them." 

That part wasn't a lie. Seto leaves it. 

After a long moment, Seto says, "I- I think I'm going to try and sleep. My head-"

"It's alright. The storm shouldn't last much longer, it's already calming down. I'll wake you when it stops."

"Thanks, Martin." He shifts so that his arm is under his head, used as a pillow. He hesitates, then sighs, closing his eyes. He falls asleep to the rocking of the island. 


	11. honey don't feed it, it will come back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song is 'it will come back' by hozier

_Nathaniel sits crouched in the corner, yellow eyes boring into Seto's own grey ones. The kid shifts on his feet, tugging uselessly at his shirt. "Mom said not to talk to you."_

_"Listen to your mother, boy." Seto flinches at the rolling growl under Nathaniel's words. There's a fire in the angel's eyes, like the wild, untameable ones in the third district Seto keeps hearing about in the news. A forest fire, uncontrolled and savage. He shivers._

_"But I- I just-" It's stupid, now, he realizes, to approach this- man. This angel. Nathaniel shifts where he's sitting and Seto goes back another step. He'd heard so many stories about the angels, though, and he wants to know if they're true. "Do you guys- eat humans?"_

_Nathaniel's expression remains unimpressed and blank. He's different from when he'd been injured. Or maybe Kerberos just... knew him, or something? It sounded like it. Seto doesn't get why._

_Eventually, Nathaniel hisses out, "Had one for dinner just three nights ago. That answer your question?"_

_It does. Seto takes another wary step back. He bumps into the couch. He glances over to the hallway, but both his mother and Jordan are already asleep. "Um."_

_A long moment passes. He can't seem to move, can't seem to run. It's summertime, but he shivers anyway. Suddenly, the angel gets to his feet. He has to bend to stand, wings scraping the ceiling. "You are lucky," the angel hisses, "to be alive. You are a- disgusting form of nature, which should not even exist."_

_Seto hurries for the kitchen door, but stops, staring back at Nathaniel. The angel grins, and it is snake-like. His throat glows yellow. "Consider your good fortune, and don't push it."_

_The angel sits back down, breath heaving, and Seto doesn't miss the way he holds an arm over his stomach. He's an angel, yes, but he's still injured._

_"Scram, human." The second word is spat with such vitriol that Seto turns and rushes back to his room._

[...]

He startles awake with a gasp, and groans at the spiking of pain in his head. Curling in on himself, Seto runs a hand over his head, pausing at the sizeable lump where he'd hit it. After a second, he feels for the other side, stomach sinking when he realizes that the horns are growing, and fast. They haven't yet broken through skin, but when he pulls his hand away, he realizes that his hair is falling out around the spots.

Biting back another sigh, he drops his hand to the side and glances around. He's in the guest room - well, his room now - but he can't remember when he'd gone back upstairs.

A glance towards the window shows that the sky is bright and clear. Long bars of gold spear in through the storm boards that are still locked in place. He slowly gets up, shucking off his clothes and dressing. He takes a moment to look over his trashed room. Everything is pretty much thrown everywhere. He'd been sleeping in the middle of a nest of blankets, so somebody had to have done that for him. But everything else is a mess. He goes to the bedside table to make sure his laptop and everything else is okay. Nothing seems to be wet, which surprises him. With a storm that horrible, he figured there would be a few leaks. 

Scratching at the horn spot that he didn't hit, he starts picking things up. He carelessly tosses things onto the shelves but pauses at the large book he'd taken from his mom's room. He should probably look through it. But with a shake of his head, he dismisses the thought. He's starving. He'll eat first, then clean, then look through it.

Plan in mind, Seto quietly opens his door, listening for signs that the twins are inside. The house is eerily silent. He sighs and heads down the stairs, one hand reaching up to rub his forehead. His head still hurts, and his stomach is somewhat upset, but his balance doesn't seem to be messed up. That's probably a good thing. It means his concussion isn't as bad as it could be.

After making himself a sandwich, he goes to the table, trying to tug one of the chairs out from under it. The chair won't budge, and he doesn't want to fuck with any more magic, so he groans and goes to sit on the armchair. The fireplace isn't lit, letting the chill of the air outside settle in. Seto grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and sits back down to continue eating.

Halfway through his sandwich, there's a knock on the door. He pauses and, not really thinking it through, gets up to go answer it. 

He only realizes his mistake when Baki blinks down at him, surprised. The angel shifts in place, uncomfortable, and glances around the house. 

Thanking the heavens that it's not some other angel, Seto sighs and goes to grab his sandwich from the couch. Baki wanders in through the open door. "Do you-" There's an awkward pause. "Do you know where the twins are?"

Seto looks over, surprised that Baki would even speak to him. He chews the rest of the bite in his mouth and shrugs. "Uh, no. I just woke up."

Baki glances over at him. Seto notices he's looking much better. Maybe Simon is okay. The angel does a double-take, then says, "You've gotten taller."

"Oh?" He hasn't measured his height in a while. He glances down, kicks at the floorboards, and says, "Yeah. Growing a few new things, too."

Baki's look is curious, and Seto figures it's because he's a doctor. Maybe a morbid sense of curiosity? There's another long, awkward pause, then the angel sighs. "What kind of growing things?"

"Ribs, um... My height. A few other things." He isn't sure he should tell Baki he's eastern. That probably wouldn't go over well.

"Stop by the hospital sometime," Baki says, "To, uh, make sure your organs are fine."

"What do you mean?"

Baki hesitates, then shifts in place. Still not comfortable talking with Seto, it seems. Seto finds it funny. He takes another bite of his sandwich. "Well," the angel says, "If you're growing more bones - especially ribs - we have to make sure that your, uh, digestive organs, and anything in that area, are fine. Angels aren't born with all their ribs, but they also don't have to worry about any extra organs like... that."

Makes sense. "Do you think I'll grow a second heart?"

Baki sighs, as if resigning himself to something, and comes over. Seto backs up quickly, flinching at the quick movement when it jars... everything. The angel holds up a placating hand. He gives slight hesitation, then grabs Seto's wrist and feels for his pulse. After a long moment, he says, "You're growing, you said?"

"Uh, yeah, I..." He glances toward the door. He shouldn't tell Baki about what type of angel he is, he really shouldn't. "I'm- Not...  _your_ kind of angel," he admits after a moment. Baki freezes, then sighs through his nose, kneeling down. He asks to see Seto's ribs and, uncomfortable, he pulls his shirt up.

Baki pays no attention to the growing bump that will eventually be a tail, instead gently pressing at his sides, counting ribs, then feeling his stomach. "Nothing seems to be wrong right now," he says eventually, "But if you're from... Well-"

"Martin said they don't stop growing," Seto blurts, wincing internally at Baki's flinch at the mention of Martin. "So, like-"

Baki stands back up and Seto tugs his shirt back down, stuffing his hand in his pockets. The angel stands back, as if evaluating him just by looking. He says, "Some angels are born without a second heart. The few that don't have it- They die young, I'll be honest with you."

"How young?" He shakes when he goes to throw away the rest of his sandwich in the trashcan. He feels sick, and hopes he won't puke up the food he'd just eaten.

"They're just babies, really, in our years. For you, well. It depends on how fast you grow. The few cases I've taken care of usually become paralyzed around their early twenties, and die shortly after." Baki looks like he wants to fiddle with something. He glances toward the door. They're both hoping for the conversation to be interrupted, though for different reasons. Seto feels like he should sit down. "The lower heart usually circulates blood through the trunk of the body. Organs, brain, that sort of thing. The higher one gets the limbs. Without the second one, the remaining makes sure to get blood to the main organs."

"So if I don't grow a second one, I-"

"It's entirely possible you only have about-" Baki takes a moment, trying to figure out how old Seto is. "About another five years, judging by your height now."

Seto laughs and paces away, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. He hits the tender spot and winces. Instead, he scratches at the other spot. "Wow that's- That's great. It's like, what, nearly the fifth time I've almost died up here?"

Baki doesn't seem to find anything about the situation funny. He folds his hands together, and after a while of silence from Seto, says, "Would you help me find the twins?"

"I- yeah, I-" He struggles to reign himself back from panicking. Doesn't work, not really, but he and Baki leave without another word to each other. 

The distant sound of clanging greets Seto's hears when he steps outside. His initial thought is that they're both in the smith, which Baki must have thought as well. He stops the angel before he can walk too far. "It's too uneven," he says, glancing around, trying to pinpoint where the sounds of metal on metal are coming from. The echoes make it nearly impossible. He hesitates, then starts towards the woods. Baki follows but looks twitchy. He probably wants to fly to find them. Seto can't blame him. He's a lot more wary about walking around after the sinkhole incident.

Eventually, after following the creek, they come out to the field. Seto stops at the edge of it, holding out a hand to stop Baki. "There they are," he says, then mentally swears when Nitram dives for Martin, bladed wings flashing in the sunlight. "Fuck, they're trying to kill each other-" 

He hurries forward, but Baki grabs his shoulder. It hurts and he winces away. "They're just sparring."

Fire whips around in an arch. Martin sweeps under it, flips onto his back, and kicks Nitram away from him. The other backpedals, temporarily landing on the ground, sinking slightly, then launches himself into the air again.

Seto watches as they spiral up, meeting every once in a while with a clash of metal. Martin somehow gets around back of Nitram, and lands what could have been a heavy blow to his neck, but seemed to be pulled back. Intentionally keeping damage or pain to a minimum. Nitram goes down accordingly, taking a moment to stand on the ground and catch his breath. He rises with another burst of fire, which curls around and sweeps across Martin. 

It's almost like a dance, really. It's fascinating to watch them fight; he's never really seen them do it in the air. Nitram spins, ducks a swipe from Martin's wing, sails backward in the air, and propels himself with another burst of fire. Martin dodges it, left wing coming up to wave it away. 

"They're both using magic," Baki muses, watching them closely. "Some sort of levitation spell, or something. It's a common potion, though I think they probably just made their own rune on their wings."

Seto hums noncommittally, not really having the mind to pay much attention at the moment. His eyes train on the bursts of fire and he thinks about his missing heart. Nitram laughs and makes a swipe at Martin again.

Martin lands for a moment, hopping backward through the mud to dodge Nitram's swinging of his wings. He ducks, but then Nitram is coming back with a kick. It connects with Martin's chest and he stumbles back, ducking down when Nitram attacks. Martin looks out of breathless, but thrilled. Seto thinks it's the happiest he's seen either of them. After dodging another swipe, he holds up a hand, standing and catching his breath.

Nitram drops to the ground instantly, talking with him for a second. Martin glances their way, followed by Nitram. They exchange a glance and a few more words, then after a moment start heading back over. Seto wrinkles his nose at the mud covering them.

"Baki, it is good to see you," Nitram greets, going to a towel folded neatly on a trampled down patch of grass. He scrubs flecks of mud off his face. "How are you doing? Any news on Simon?"

"He's back, actually," Baki says, "That's why I came by. He arrived a week or so ago, I just now was able to get him stable enough so that I could come to tell you. Jayn is fine, she's there with him now."

"That's great," Martin says, peeling his shirt off of him. He bundles it up and drops it, grabbing the towel from Nitram's hands. "We'll stop by later today, I have to go out and run some errands anyway."

Seto glances over at Martin, hearing the subtle skip done by one of his hearts. Neither Baki or Nitram seemed to have noticed, already too caught up in conversation. 

"I'm not sure he'd want to see you," Baki says truthfully. The angels start walking back towards the house. Seto sighs and tags along behind them. "He's- Not entirely okay. Keeps saying something about the attack, but... I can't always understand him, I don't think he realizes he's speaking."

Blocking out the rest of the conversation, Seto pauses to let them get a bit further ahead. He pokes at his wrist, finding the dip between his bones in his wrist. His heartbeat pulses strong beneath his fingertips, just as always. He digs into his neck, finds it again, then settles over his chest. Remembering the diagram that Martin had drawn down, he pokes lower, pressing into the empty space between his ribs. It hurts. After a long moment of feeling nothing but the heartbeat that was already there, Seto groans and covers his eyes. 

Just his fucking luck, really. 

When he catches back up, the three are talking on in an Above language. Seto reminds himself to ask Nitram again about teaching him. He doesn't like not knowing what's being said.

Baki notices him catch back up, pink eyes flicking towards him. He pauses in conversation, then says something else. Nitram lets out a startled, "What?" But Martin shuts his eyes. Seto glances between the three of them. Baki gestures with one hand, speaking again, and this time Martin speaks up.

Whatever they're talking about, it's about him. Seto thinks it probably has something to do with the whole missing heart thing. Nitram looks guilty, almost. Martin's expression is blank. Seto tries not to be hurt by that.

Something seems to be decided because their walk resumes, and it seems that the topic changes again. When they reach the house, Seto stays outside. He fiddles with a flowering vine that travels up the side of the house, making sure it's found enough holds to stay on. He gently pulls some strands back up that had been moved because of the storm. A glance at the garden shows that some of his more recent work has to be redone.

He works in the garden for a long time, pausing only once an hour into it to glance up at an island passing overhead. It's only when Martin comes outside that he stops. "Seto, I-"

"Baki told you?"

"Well, yes," Martin says, scratching the back of his neck. He hesitates, then kneels down next to him, going for the weeds he sees. He twists them out of the ground and says, "While I go out today, I was thinking of bringing you with me. Nitram is going to stop by the hospital; we can visit as well, to make sure everything is okay."

"But it's not," Seto snaps, pitching the trowel into the dirt. "Nothing has been okay since the day you crashlanded in my fucking backyard. I've nearly died several times, Jordan's-  _gone_." His voice breaks, he takes a stuttering breath. "And I know more about myself than I ever even wanted to know. Nothing is okay. I can't go home, and this place is trying its best to kill me, and- and-"

He breaks off, somewhat expecting Martin to say something. Maybe assure him, maybe lie to him, tell him everything will be alright.

The angel says, "I meant, health-wise. Baki makes a point about the extra organs. Even then, the heart... That's a different problem. It's entirely possible your body is trying to catch up to how tall it should be. You're still somewhat human."

Seto scoffs at this, sitting back on his heels. Martin pulls out another weed and takes the trowel from where he'd tossed it into the dirt. He continues digging around a plant where Seto had stopped, careful of the roots. A long moment passes and then Martin puts the shovel down, standing up. "Here, come look at this."

Seto glances up at him, scowling, but with a sigh he gets up, biting back a groan at the aches. He dusts his pants off and follows Martin to the smithing island. He pauses at the bridge, watching the angel cross it easily. Hesitantly, he steps out onto it, glancing up again when Martin stops and turns to look back at him. "Do you need help?"

"Uh-" Upon his hesitation, Martin goes back towards him, but Seto waves him off. The angel has his wings on, if he falls, it'll be fine. "I got it, it's alright."

Martin makes a noise at the back of his throat and crosses the bridge, stopping at the other side for Seto. His legs are shaking and he feels lightheaded by the time he's across, but he doesn't fall. Doesn't trip, doesn't stop. He's proud.

Martin is looking at him strangely. "What?" Seto asks, but the angel shakes his head and heads towards the shop.

"Nothing, kid. But come here, I have something for you."

Seto sighs, but follows, glancing around the front of the shop when he steps in. Martin goes for the closet, flipping on the lights, but then gesturing for Seto to follow him. Raising an eyebrow, he does, peering around Martin to try and find what he'd wanted to show him.

Instead, he's met with a set of steep stairs. Martin locks the trapdoor to the wall and starts heading down. Curious, Seto follows, glancing around the moment he can fully see the room.

It's mostly empty, especially on the left side. Towards his right, though, are a few chairs and a couch sitting around a table. It's a small lounge area but doesn't look even close to being as comfortable as the one in the main house. 

Surprisingly, the set of wings Martin made on the ground are sprawled out on the table. Seto wanders over to those, tracing a hand over a feather. He glances over at Martin, who is rummaging through a small pantry in the wall. He steps fully into it, disappearing for a moment. Seto, unsure of what to do, stands there. He glances down at the wings again, noticing a dent in one of the feathers. Frowning, he runs his thumb through it, tracing the circular indent. His eyes flick over to the small pile of bullets sitting near the corner. Huh. 

Martin comes out, holding two things wrapped in foam. He sits down on the couch and waves a hand. Suddenly, the wings fold up, rattling, and gently float towards the ground. Startled, Seto steps back. 

"I was studying them," Martin explains, "They're different from others I've made because of the magic on the Ground. The metal seems fairly strong, so I've taken to practicing with a few rounds on them, but I've already taken most of anything useful from them."

"Oh," Seto mutters intelligently, glancing again at the pile of bullets. He sits down in an armchair and glances over at Martin. The angel is unwrapping whatever the things are. Suddenly, he holds one out, the foam still covering it. "Here, look."

"Uh..." Seto reaches out and takes it, surprised at the feel of metal. It's incredibly light; it couldn't weigh much more than his tablet. He pulls of the remaining foam and stares at the object in his hand. 

He's familiar enough with the outside of a port to figure out what it is. It's surprisingly mostly hollow, now that he is holding one and seeing it up close. There are various grooves, which move when he runs his fingers across them. He tilts it, finding little holes along the inside where the wings must connect. 

The outside, though, that's what scares him. It's maybe four inches long, with several branching spines. He gently presses at one to find that it moves like a worm. His gut twists uncomfortably. "So this- This is a port, right? Like, a wing port?"

Martin gives one nod, looking over the other one in his hands. He sets it on his palm so that the tendrils are on his skin. Seto feels the magic swirl, and suddenly the tendrils flatten to Martin's hand, wrapping around it. He turns his palm towards the floor and it stays. "Don't worry, the inside stays the same. It's the outside that needs to be redone as someone grows. The tendrils - well, there's more of them inside it. They grow out."

"So the surgery doesn't need to be redone when someone grows, just- Tweaked?"

"Pretty much. It's really not that painful. Port surgery isn't expensive, either, since it's just something we all usually get." Martin gently sets the port down on the table, sitting it on the foam. "These... aren't for a customer, I was just wondering if I'd be able to make them smaller, lighter."

Seto briefly thinks back to the notes and diagrams that Martin hid so quickly. He opens his mouth to ask about them, to confirm his suspicion, but in the end, he doesn't. He sets the port down next to its twin. "So, all angel get these?"

Martin glances at him briefly. "Some don't, sometimes. And besides, these- These aren't from the west."

Seto looks down at them again, then asks, "They're eastern ones? What about western, how different are those?"

"Here," Martin says, getting to his feet. He goes to the pantry again. Seto leans back to get a better view, finding that it's full of shelves and drawers. Martin pulls out another pair, then goes to sit back down. He unwraps one and hands it to Seto. This one is much larger, meant for an adult.

The outside is entirely different from the eastern type. It's shallower but wider. There are eight main holes near the top, which he can't really figure out. The inside swivels as well but has fewer grooves. "What are these holes for?"

Martin sighs and, with a roll of his shoulders, pops off a wing. He folds it neatly and shows Seto the very end of it. With a press of magic, small metal pieces fold out, then back in. "Keeps it locked in there. Here, look."

He picks up the other western port and connects it to the wing. Seto frowns as he sees the part that goes inside the back, noticing the spines. They're not at all fluid like the other type. They honestly look painful. Martin grabs the port and twists it, showing how it moves like a ball joint. "There are limitations, of course, especially when on the body. But the grooves in this one-" He grabs for an eastern type, showing Seto the grooves he'd noticed before. "-Those keep the wing in, it has several smaller plates that lock it in. What you see in the hole of the port is just the outer layer. I'd take these apart, but I have to sell this pair."

He gently takes the wing and port apart, wrapping the latter up. For a long moment, he's silent. Then, Martin takes a deep breath, and pick up the eastern port. He turns it over in his hand, then says, "If you were to ever get wings, I'd suggest going with this kind. They're light but strong."

Something in his head stutters to a stop. Martin keeps talking, explaining something about the different types, but Seto interrupts him with, "What do you mean?"

Martin blinks at him, then shrugs. "I'm saying... You're growing, Seto. It's going to be impossible to hide you're a halfie for much longer. And- By the time people start to figure it out, I think you should really be prepared. There's something else we need to discuss, but-"

"So, like, I'm- I'm getting wings?"

Martin gently puts the eastern port down on the foam. Then he sighs, gestures to it, and says, "I mean, I made these and it took me a  _hell_ of a lot of time, so I hope so."

"Those are-" Seto reaches for a port, picking it up again, turning it around. "These-?"

Martin has the decency to laugh at his speechlessness. "If you want. I still have to work on them, they're not fully finished. I don't normally make ports, but I still know how. We used to, but they're such fine work, and they take a while to make. Factories make them now, but they use our designs."

 "It seems like they use a lot of your designs," Seto muses, turning the port in his hand. Curious, he searches for its magic, only to find that there isn't any. "How does the magic in this work?"

"Well, it doesn't naturally generate its own magic," Martin explains and gestures for it. Seto holds it out, but he just flips it so the tendrils are laying on his palm. "But, you extend your magic  _to_ it, and it attaches to that. Here, try. You said you feel strings, right? Just - extend your own to it."

"Yeah, uh..." Seto trails off, then closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Once he notices the magic in the room, he flinches back, feeling Martin's heartbeats thundering through the threads floating around them. After a long moment, he manages to dial down his attention to those. Feeling for his own heartbeat, he tries to snag a few tendrils, wondering how exactly to do so. 

If he could just direct them to the metal, which feels dead and empty compared to the rest of his surroundings, he could maybe attach them, and...

Suddenly, something wraps around his palm, gripping tight. A flood of senses smacks into him and he shudders. Martin slowly lets go of the port, and Seto can  _feel_ his fingers part from it. It's like another part of him, as if there are nerves on the metal. 

"Strange, huh?" Martin must notice his expression. Seto opens his eyes, bringing his hand towards him. He runs a thumb across the metal of the port, shivering again at the foreign feeling. "That sense, it extends to wings, whenever you wear them. It hurts if they're damaged, and-"

"So when you crashlanded," Seto starts but doesn't finish the question. Martin simply nods. 

"Yeah, it was painful to have my wings that fucked up. It's why I mostly kept them off. Here, give me a second." Martin reaches for the detached wing and gently sets it on the table, extending the arm. The feathers clink against the wooden edge of the table. He pulls Seto's hand towards him, and then there's this- This  _pop_ , like cracking his knuckles, and his senses spread out as if he'd grown an extension of his limb. Seto reels back, dragging the wing with him. Martin quickly detaches it, pulling it towards him. He pops it back into its socket. 

"Obviously, it'll be different once you - if you - get the surgery done. It's different when the port is just somewhat connected to your magic." Martin takes Seto's hand. He feels foreign threads of magic snag between him and the port, and like that it's drooping, no longer connected. He rubs his hand and looks down at it, finding slight indents where the tendrils had tightly been wrapped. 

There's a long moment of silence, then Martin sighs and leans back, setting the port back down. He rubs his face, then says, "What I mentioned just now, I need to talk to you about something."

Something in his stomach sinks. Seto shifts in his seat, sitting on his hands. "What's up?"

Martin takes a moment, then flips a hand in the air. "If you were to get wings, we won't be able to hide you anymore."

"Yeah, but..." Seto trails off, glancing to the side, trying to figure out how it could be possible. He wants to fly- He  _wants_ wings, especially if his second heart doesn't grow in. He doesn't want to...  _die_ without ever flying on his own. "I mean, I- I could just wear them only when I'm here, you know? Take them off when someone visits."

Martin thinks for a second, then shakes his head. "No, I- There's a way to provide you protection, legally, so that nobody could come and- hurt you. It's, you know, reputation-damaging, but I think at this point I would rather you have an assured safety among others, or if someone's here, or-"

"Okay, Martin, I can't say no to this if I don't know what it is." Seto pulls his hands out from under him to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He has a vague idea where this it going, and he's not sure if he likes it or not.

"Adoption is what I'm talking about." As if he figures he'd better just jump into the deep end, Martin explains, "Halfies are generally abandoned by the angel parent, over here, but-"

"If you were to-" He struggles for a moment before being able to say the word. "-adopt me, then..."

"Legally, you'd be under my care until you're fifty. It's the standard age for fledglings to leave and become independent, but I'm not sure how you'll age."

"As if I  _will_ age." He really can't help the retort, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Martin flinch. "But... Yeah, I get it."

"Of course, there's a bit more that goes into it, but if what I'm planning works out..." Martin trails off, biting his knuckles for a second. He says, "Well if it works out, we'll be in the clear."

"What plan?" Seto thinks back to Martin's late nights, to the notebooks Nitram doesn't like, to the new set of wings.

Martin is silent for a little while, so long that Seto isn't sure he even asked what plan it was. But then the angel waves, as if dismissing the topic, and gets to his feet. He starts wrapping the ports back up. "It's unimportant. But what we were talking about - I'll let you think about it. I won't press you."

Taping the foam closed, Martin goes back to the closet, pausing when a whistle rises from far away. He hesitates, listening, then sighs. "Nitram's calling me, Seto. Baki must be leaving. I'm assuming you don't want to say goodbye?"

Seto grins slightly, used to Martin's bland humor, then shakes his head. "No, I'm- I'll pass. I don't think Baki really likes me."

"You thought correctly." Martin pushes something down in the closet. Seto hears the click, then a rumble. He glances, alarmed, towards the blank wall, watching it start rolling up like a garage door. The wind whips inside, snagging across anything it can. There's nothing really to grab, but some of the bullets in the pile roll and fall off the table. "But here, I'll fly you back up."

Seto casts one more glance towards the closet, where the wing ports are put away, where  _his_ ports are put away, then he nods and gets up. 

Martin picks him up easily, hopping out of the garage door. His wings flick in a circular motion and he pulls a cord hanging from the rock above the door. Seto watches as it starts sliding closed again. 

The flight is short, but he manages to catch a glimpse of a few islands that are actually kind of close. Martin seems to notice them too, because when he lands he says, "If you notice those get closer, run and get me or Nitram so we can put the sigil on."

"Yeah, gotcha." Seto goes back for where Martin had put the trowel. He kneels back down, intent on trying to get this garden  _done_. 

"We'll be leaving in a bit and taking the tagalong," Martin tells him as he passes, "Think about what I said."

"Yeah, I- I will." Seto puts the shovel back down, watching Martin disappear into the house. He takes a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He lets it out in a sigh and rubs his eyes.

After a second, he glances down at the garden. It seems kind of pointless to fix it up the rest of the way. He- He might not even be around to appreciate it.

"Fuck," he mutters, yanking up a bit of grass in his frustration. He's trying not to let that get to him because, hell, maybe Baki's wrong. Or maybe he'll stop growing and it won't be an issue. Who knows, maybe the second heart will grow in. Just- He can't let himself get on the train of thought. It won't lead to anything good.

Seto leans back on his heels, glancing up towards the sky. He sits like that for a moment, then sighs and shakes his head, getting up and heading inside.

[...]

_"Mom?"_

_Kerberos startles, pulling papers towards her. She turns in her chair, sniffing and quickly wiping her eyes. "Oh, baby, why are you up? It's late; you have school tomorrow."_

_Seto glances backward, towards the living room. He hesitates, then runs to her, clutching to her leg. "I'm- I'm scared, mom."_

_"I know, honey, but Nathaniel- He'll be gone soon, I promise, okay?" She holds him, running a hand over the back of his head. After a moment, she casts a glance at the papers - Seto stands on his toes to try and read them, but she quickly moves them out of his line of sight._

_"Look, honey," she whispers, and holds the sides of his head, making him look her in the eye. "We'll be okay. A- a friend of mine will help us, he'll get us out of here. We just need to keep our heads down for a bit, and then he'll get here, and then we can leave."_

_"Wh-Where are we going? Can Adam come? Who's gonna be-"_

_"Yes, we'll bring Adam. And who it is, is unimportant. Just know that he's strong, and he'll make sure we'll be safe." She smiles at him, reaching up to push back a strand of hair from his forehead. "Everything will be alright, you just have to trust me."_

_He nods, nearly frantically, and then reaches up to hug her. She holds him close, her chin resting on the top of his head. "Nothing will happen to you, Seto, I promise."_


	12. i can't control you, i don't know you well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these are the reasons i think that you're ill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from "my manic and i" by laura marling

The hospital is like Seto remembers. It's a warm relief compared to outside, but actually a fairly long flight. It makes him wonder how long it took Nitram to bring him to the house, the first time. 

An angel he doesn't know is standing at the desk talking to Baki. The right side of her face is bandaged and her hair has been shaved off. The only visible eye Seto can see is a soft pink, kind but exhausted. She glances their way when they walk in, and she pales several shades. Then she turns to Baki and bids him a farewell. Even without understanding what she's saying, Seto can still hear her stutter. She more or less runs from the room, giving the twins a wide berth. She doesn't even notice Seto.

"What's her deal?" Martin asks as she leaves.

Baki shifts uncomfortably. He glances toward the door. "Jayn, well, she... saw everything happen."

Seto glances at the twins in time to catch only Nitram's reaction. Something in his stomach sinks at the terrified look that flashes across his eyes. "The- leader of the west, right?" Martin asks, quietly. 

There's something Seto can't connect here. Sure, this guy should probably be feared, whoever he is. If what Baki said is right, and he took out an entire squadron of angels, then he must be strong. But that shouldn't garner this reaction from the brothers.

Baki looks as if he wants to say something, but then just shakes his head. "Yeah, him. Jayn thinks they got too close to his home, or maybe the capital or whatever they have there. We haven't ever really seen him fight like that before, so Simon's group must have struck a nerve. That or he woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning."

The joke goes unnoticed. Out of the corner of his eye, Seto sees the twins share a glance.

"Anyway," Nitram says, "How is Simon? Is he awake yet?"

Baki smiles at this, seemingly happy to change the subject to Simon. "Much better, actually. I've mostly been using magic, just trying to make sure everything is alright. He's awake, but... not all that there."

Martin mentions something about being exhausted, but Seto's attention turns away from the conversation. He finally notices Jin standing near the edge of the room, at the hallway doors. His head is lowered, eyes trained on the floor, with his hands folded in front of him. Just waiting for orders. That's it.

His skin crawls. He quickly looks away, returning his attention to the conversation. Baki starts towards the doors, not even noticing when Jin pushes one open and holds it for the three of them. Feeling somewhat unsure, Seto tags along behind the angels. He pauses when he's in front of Jin.

Finally, the human glances up, and Seto has to wonder at the unreadable grey eyes. There are no expressions in his face, no hint of dissatisfaction or fear. Just simple acceptance. This is his life. This is all he's known.

A thought sinks through him and curdles in his throat. Jin got lucky. He got  _lucky_ because Baki really doesn't seem like the type to abuse any humans he... _owns_. Jin is here, helping, working, and obviously being fed right and obviously getting enough sleep. It's probably a better life than he would get if Baki hadn't bought him.

Feeling sick, he breaks eye contact and hurries away. A glance over his shoulder finds Jin still watching him, eyes unreadable.

The familiar clacking of the heart monitor meets his ears when he finally gets to the only open door. He peers into the room, finding that Simon is actually awake. 

Nitram seems to be trying to talk to him, but it's in a different language. Simon won't look at either of the brothers. On second look, he seems out of it, eyes hazy and drifting around the room. Baki is standing nearby, mixing what looks like potions. Martin won't look at any of them.

Deciding it's really not his place to step inside, Seto glances around and goes for one of the waiting chairs sitting against the wall. He glances to his left to find Jin still standing by the door, staring at him. Seto manages to take the constant staring for about a minute before he turns and, in a hushed whisper, hisses, "Can you  _not_?"

Instantly, Jin looks away. Seto feels bad, but at least he doesn't have to deal with the staring. 

There's a loud crash inside and he's on his feet before he even realizes he is.

Sliding into the doorway, he finds Simon trying to claw Nitram's eyes out. He's screaming something, but it's either in a different language or simply unintelligible. Martin ducks under Nitram's wing and comes around, grabbing Simon by his uninjured shoulder and shoving him back to the bed. Nitram stumbles back once Simon's grip is gone, holding the side of his face. His hand comes away blue and, for a second, Seto is actually scared Simon managed to hit his eye. 

Baki is standing back, looking torn. He glances toward Seto, and his brow furrows further. "Martin," he says, mind made up, "Let go of him."

"Like hell, I'll let go of him," Martin snarls, and, fuck, Seto hasn't seen him that angry in a while. He's pinning Simon, who is thrashing around, down by the neck. Then, to Simon, he growls, "How fucking  _dare_ you?"

He shoves at the angel again, backing away for a moment. Simon tries to get up, snarling, but then Martin is shoving him towards the headboard of the bed. Simon's pained hiss goes ignored.

"You look so like him," Simon hisses, clutching his chest. His breathing is heavy, pained. "It can't be a coincidence."

"I think you are mistaken," Nitram says coolly, wiping away blood from the scrapes under his eye. Seto casts a glance at Simon's hand to find blue beneath his long claw-like nails. Now that he is looking, he notices Baki also has longer nails. Martin and Nitram don't. "We don't know what you are talking about."

Simon growls wordlessly and tries to move again, but then Baki is putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. Swiftly, the doctor unscrews one of the potions, pinches Simon's ear, and when he opens his mouth to complain, dumps the contents of the bottle into his mouth.

Simon chokes, but then he falls limp, slumping forward. Baki lets out a long sigh through his nose, arranging the angel on the bed, smoothing out the sheets, and checking the IV. Nitram shuffles away slightly, still holding his fingers to the cuts beneath his eye. 

After a long second, Baki turns and says, "Let me see it, then, Nitram."

Nitram sighs, but drags himself over to the stool and sits down, tilting his head up. Baki cleans the cuts in silence. Seto glances toward Martin to find the angel glaring at Simon. After a long moment, he mutters something under his breath and leaves, wings clinking like chimes. 

Hesitantly, Seto slips after him, jogging to catch up. "Hey, Martin?"

The angel whirls on him and Seto halts, wincing back at the glare. It softens a moment later. Martin sighs and runs his hand through his hair, scratching at where the horns would grow. After a moment, he says, "Sorry, Seto, I don't- Mean to be angry at you."

"No, it's okay," Seto says, casting a glance back towards the room. Nitram still hasn't come out; he thinks he and Baki might be talking. He looks over at Jin, then waves Martin towards the lobby of the hospital. 

Martin raises an eyebrow but follows, not glancing at Jin as they pass. Once they're out into the lobby, Seto quietly says, "I- I have some questions."

Martin glances anxiously back at Jin. "Not here," he says, but looks away before he can notice Jin looking over. Seto shivers at the dead eyes and steps out of view, putting Martin between them. 

"When?"

"Home, but first let's get Baki to check on your- heart." He looks hesitant. Seto nods, sighing, and goes after Martin, back to where Nitram and Baki are standing outside the door, talking quietly.

"Baki, would you-" Martin starts, but Baki holds up a hand and waves Seto over. He glances at Martin, then follows, ignoring the way the twins go to talk to each other once he and Baki are about to round a corner.

"Do you have any metal on you?" Baki asks as they walk. "Belts, the collar, any surgeries done before?"

"Uh, no, no metal." He reaches up to feel his neck, remembering that he had forgotten to put it on. "No surgeries, either."

"Good, good." Baki mutters something else under his breath, pressing a hand to a sigil above a doorknob. It flashes briefly and he pushes the door open. "Lay on that, don't move. I'll start it up in a second."

Seto glances at the X-ray machine, biting back his worry. It's not as if he hates doctors, but... Well, he thinks anybody would be scared to go inside a machine like that. He's only ever seen them on TV.

But he sits down on it, glancing over as Baki disappears into a door. The glass only shows the room's reflection, so he can't see the angel. He kicks off his shoes and lays down, putting his hands on his stomach. 

The machine whirs to life, and it creaks when it starts moving. Suddenly, Baki's voice crackles over a speaker. "Do you have any sigils on right now?"

"Oh, yeah, the muting one, I'll just rub it off." Seto goes to lick his thumb and interrupted the sigil, but he hears a sigh over the intercom. The machine dies and all movement stops. Seto sits up, banging his head on the lip of the top of it. He winces, rubbing his forehead, the pain from earlier coming back full force. 

Baki drops a small bottle by his feet and gestures for him to scoot down. Seto does, throwing his legs back over. Baki stares at him for a moment, then, with exasperation clear in his voice, says, "Well?"

"Oh, uh." He reaches for his right shoulder, tugging up the sleeve. Baki pauses, glancing at the sigil with a frown. After a long moment, he says, "I don't recognize the characters. You can just rub this off, right? No extra magic severance?"

"Um."

"Helpful." Baki grabs the bottle and pours some of the clear liquid onto the towel, rubbing it across the cloth. He holds Seto's arm and starts wiping the sigil clean, making sure there aren't any smudges. The instant it's interrupted, Seto flinches, closing his eyes against the lights. He hadn't realized how bright the hospital was. Baki pauses at his wince, then continues. He hums, then says, "Well, you have magic, that's strange."

"What do you mean?"

"It's hard to tell with the sigil on. Impossible, really, I tried when I brought you here. It seems you have a fairly powerful reading, too. Good for you." The dryness in his tone makes Seto awkwardly shift in his place.

After a moment, Baki tosses the towel towards a counter, grabbing the bottle and patting the hard surface of the bed twice. "Alright, back down. No other sigils, right?"

"Just the one on my back, but Nitram interrupted it when I got up here."

Baki pauses, glances at him, then his shoulder slump and he heaves a sigh. "Let me see. Lord knows those idiots don't know what they're doing."

Uncomfortable, Seto turns hi back towards the angel, dragging up his shirt. He hears an intake of breath that probably meant surprise. "That bad?"

"Fuck, kid," Baki mutters, and cool fingers press to the sigil. Seto hunches forward. He holds his breath as Baki looks over it, then the doctor says, "Well, it's dead. Surprising, really. Carving is such a horrible way to put sigils on... What did they use to interrupt it, a brand?"

"Something for the fireplace, I think. I can't really remember. You'll have to ask them, I was kind of out of it." 

Baki hums. Seto kicks his feet, but the angel tugs his shirt back down and tells him to lay down again. Doing so, he stares up at the ceiling until the machine slides and he only sees the plastic inside of it. 

"Hands at your sides," Baki mutters over the intercom. A moment later, when Seto is situated correctly, a loud clacking noise starts up. A light passes across the top of it, then back, then forth. 

"Isn't this an MRI machine?" he voices.

"Stop talking."

Right. Okay, that's good. He clicks his mouth shut and lays still, not feeling like being scolded again. After what feels like forever, the tube slowly powers down and he slides back out. The moment his head is clear, he sits up, fiddling with the end of his shirt.

Another long moment passes, then Baki's voice comes over the intercom. "Seto, would you go get the twins for me."

Dread settles in his stomach. That doesn't sound good. That  _really_ doesn't sound good.

With shaking hands, he pulls on his shoes, then hurries out the door. Nitram and Martin are waiting out in the hall. Nitram stands from the waiting chair when he comes out. Martin is already walking toward him. "How did it go?"

"He asked me to get you guys," Seto says quietly. He can't hide the shaking in his voice. They hurry back to the room, but Baki won't let Seto into the side room. He ends up sitting on a stool near a counter, worrying at his nails. 

After a long moment, Nitram opens the door and calls his name. Seto rushes over, practically barrelling past to get to the screens, where Baki is sitting. He's pointing at something on one, talking to Martin in another language. He glances over when Seto comes in.

"You're in luck," Baki says, and Seto feels a mix of relief and anticipation. "Come look."

He goes to peer at the screen, squinting, trying to find what Baki was pointing out. He checks for the bottom part of the ribs, but doesn't really see what could be a second heart. "So, am I growing one, or-"

"Yeah. Right here." Baki reaches forward, tracing a small lump situated below his lungs. "It's not even beating yet, but you have it. Look, some arteries are already starting to form. It's...fascinating, I've never seen this in any of my cases before."

"So will it work?" Martin asks, leaning on the back of Baki's chair.

"Maybe," the doctor says, then points along the digestive tract. "This is already going away, you see, so we shouldn't have to worry about the organs squishing each other."

"Wait," Seto interrupts, ignoring Baki's disgruntled look. "Like, how am I going to eat then? And I mean, everything's... moving like normal, I-"

Baki gags, and shakes his head as if shoving a thought out of his mind. "Check back in with me in two weeks, and I'll be able to tell you if it needs to be removed manually or not. It's... God, humans are gross. Your body has a lot more angel genes in it than I thought. See, look at your right lung. It's already got the upper lobe. It's along what humans would consider a normal lung. Kind of separate, but we use it for higher altitudes. I'm not sure if it works, but..."

He trails off, looking at a different screen. "Your main heart already has the fifth chamber, it's just a matter of connecting the two hearts with the mediataes artery, and then you're golden. I have a feeling you were born with this second heart, here, it just never fully grew."

Seto wishes he'd taken that anatomy class. He watches as Baki points out a few more things - hell, his tail is going to start showing soon, and the skin around his horns is growing thinner. He sits back for a moment, just staring, letting the angel's voice drone in the background. He isn't sure what to feel. Relief, of course, but there's a worry right below it. What if the second heart  _doesn't_ grow in all the way? Then he'd just be back in the situation he was in before. He might still only live for a few more years. Even then, halfway through it probably wouldn't even be living. He wouldn't be able to walk, take care of himself, or do anything on his own. He'd-

A hand settles on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. He glances up to find that Baki is already closing down the computers. He's talking to Nitram, but Seto doesn't understand it. 

"Kid, don't think too much about it," Martin says and Seto looks up at him quickly.

"But I-"

"We have to take what we can get, for now. There's no use in worrying about shit when we can't do anything about it." Nitram glances up at those words, brow furrowing, but he goes back to his conversation with Baki relatively quickly.

"I- Yeah. Yeah." His hands shake when he tugs at his shirt. "I think I- I'm gonna go on out."

The three hang behind as he leaves, but once he gets out into the main lobby he hears footsteps behind him. 

"I was going shopping anyway, Seto," Martin says, already taking out the wires for the tagalong from the pouch at his hip. "Do you want to go with me?"

Figuring it would be a good distraction, Seto shrugs, going to hold the door open for Martin. He comes over but pulls out the charcoal pencil and motions for Seto's arm. Sighing, he pulls up the sleeve, closing his eyes so the shock of the sudden dullness isn't as bad. He still squints when he opens his eyes.

"We'll be around crowds," Martin mutters, and Seto knows him enough by now to know that that's one of his ways of apologizing. He shrugs and follows Martin out the door. "Yeah, I get it."

"We have just a few stops to make, really. Nitram made a list for groceries." Martin hands him a crumpled piece of paper. On closer inspection, it looks like it had been neatly folded, prior to being in Martin's possession. 

Seto glances over it, then sighs. "Martin, I can't read this. Why did you give it to me?"

"Oh. We'll have to teach you soon." Martin takes it back from him, stuffing it back in his pocket. He glances back toward the hospital doors when the reach the tagalong. He seems to be in a hurry, but Seto takes his time climbing on and settling down. The familiar hum of the engines beneath him is comforting.

"Ready?" 

Seto looks up in surprise to find that Martin is already about to take off. He bends down, and then with a heave of his wings they're jerking forward. The take-off isn't as smooth as the others and Seto's fingers nearly slip. He cowers down, gripping on tighter, biting back a scream.  

The wind whips at his face, making his eyes water. He tries to curl his fingers so that they're hidden from the open air, but he can already feel them starting to freeze. He'd give anything to have a coat and gloves, but keeping up appearances is more important.

They land fairly quickly, thankfully, but it's on an island he doesn't recognize. Martin parks the tagalong in a fairly big lot. Seto stares at a  _giant_ tagalong as he gets down, then points wordlessly at it. Martin glances over. He hesitates for a long, long time, then says, quietly, "It's for transporting humans, Seto. It takes a few angels to pull along. They're put on the top, in those nets on the bottom, and inside."

He's glad he only had a light lunch. Seto quickly looks away from the plane, back toward Martin. The angel gestures for him to follow and he does, keeping his head down as they pass a group of angels. Their chatter temporarily stops and one whistles at Martin to get his attention. He stops and turns, and looks none too pleased.

"Are you guys taking solstice commissions?" The one who whistled, a woman with dark red hair and cream-colored wings, comes forward. "I had a few noticeable duels, and I want to get mine updated."

Martin shakes his head. "Sorry, not this time. We're behind on work, anyway."

A few angels of the group mutter and groan. Seto glances at them out of the corner of his eye.

"When  _will_ you be taking new commissions?" Another one pipes up. He seems pretty young, maybe a foot taller than Seto. "I'm gonna start shopping around for my first set, and-"

"I'm sorry," Martin says, looking as if he only wants the conversation to be done, "But as I said, we're busy. I will speak to my brother about taking new ones, but right now we're just trying to get our current workload done. Thank you." He ends with a nod, and then suddenly Sbeings beign pushed forward by the back of his neck. He stumbles and scowls, resisting the urge to slap Martin's hand away.

"It's all I ever hear anymore," Martin mutters, "Do this, do that. I want a day off."

Seto chances a glance around then whispers back, "I don't know, you got to vacation at my house for a pretty long time."

Martin grumbles under his breath, but Seto can't really understand him. Another few minutes of walking and they arrive at a marketplace. Curious, Seto glances around, eyes straying to the bright colors of a blanket-weaver. He tries not to hesitate in his step when they pass by a stall full of glittering stones. He reaches for his mother's bracelet, only to remember that he'd left it at home, as well as his own amulet. He sighs, feeling a small ache in his chest at the absence of both items. 

He tags along behind Martin, sticking closer than what was probably necessary. He catches a glimpse of a few humans and notices their collars. Fear settles in his gut and he reaches up to feel his bare neck. His own is still at home,  _fuck_ -

Martin stops abruptly and Seto nearly runs into him. This earns a glare from the stall vendor, but Martin waves it off and says something to him. They continue to chat as Martin picks out a few... Well, Seto  _thinks_ they're probably vegetables. Once the bag is full, they talk a bit more, then Martin hands over a small handful of coins. Then it's on to the next stall.

The bag is swung into his view and Seto glances up at Martin for a moment, letting him see his glare, then he takes the bag and sighs. They continue through the market for a good period of time, with Seto having to hold half the bags that they pick up. Eventually, when his arms are full, he kicks Martin in the heel when nobody's looking. The angel doesn't seem to notice, but a few moments later he pinches Seto in the arm. 

Martin stops at another vendor and Seto glances across the items, frowning at them. There are multiple wands, amulets, everything of the like. It reminds Seto of the other shop.

He glances up at Martin in time to catch his expression, but can't really figure out what it means.

"Anything you like?" the old woman asks, picking up a gold-encrusted wand. Sparks drift from it wit ha tap of her finger. "Cheapest prices in all of the West."

"No, nothing, I'm just looking," Martin says, tone dead. But after a moment, he reaches out and picks up a small ring. It glows when he touches it and for a second, Seto expects him to buy it, simply because that's what  _his_ amulet had done. But then he sets it down. "They are beautiful, though, wonderful craftsmanship. Did you make them?"

"Me and my wife. She's fallen ill for the past few days, so I've come here to work the stall for her." She reaches forward wit ha creak of her chair, picking up the ring Martin had been looking at. "She had made this just a little while ago, you have a good eye. Two-hundred and seventy, for such a charming young man."

Martin laughs at this, but declines with a wave of his hand. "No, I don't have any use for any new conductors. Thank you though. I hope your wife gets better, send her my regards."

"Of course, of course." Seto catches one more look at her out of the corner of his eye as they walk away. She gently sets the ring back down on the velvet cushion, then sits back and waits for the next customer to pass by.

[...]

This time, they have more to put on the tagalong. Seto helps Martin load it but leaves the tying-down to the angel. He doesn't want to accidentally fuck up and have them lose something on their flight back.

But as he's climbing on, Martin stops him. "We have just one last errand, sorry Seto." He glances around when Seto sighs.

Clambering off and wincing at the pains in his legs, he nods mutely and follows Martin back towards the entrance. Instead of walking, though, Martin suddenly scoops him up and, without any warning, leaps from the ground. Seto swallows a scream and clutches to his jacket, curling close.

The flight is short; it seems like they hop over a few buildings, and then land in a secluded courtyard. Seto chances a glance around, finding that there are only a handful of angels nearby. Most of them are sitting at one of the shaded benches, with humans standing or sitting on the ground next to them.

Martin doesn't say anything, but he straightens up, sweeps a hand through his hair, and arranges his clothes into more of a tidy manner. He casts a glance at Seto, then sighs and mumbles what's probably an apology. Suddenly, Seto feels the collar being tugged on around his neck. He reaches up to tug at it, wondering how Martin had gotten ahold of it. He must have had it the entire time.

Seto frowns after Martin, but follows, glancing around at the few angels enjoying lunch at the tables. He steps slightly to the left to see where they're going and stumbles in his tracks.

Sitting there, next to another angel, is Nathaniel.

The General glances up as Martin approaches, and his expression settles into something akin to a fox's smile. He stands and offers a hand, saying something to Martin. Seto can't hear anything past the blood roaring in his ears.

Nathaniel notices him almost immediately, and Seto meets his eyes. The world slows to a stop as he watches recognition bloom in the poisonous yellow eyes. He's just the same as Seto last saw him. Dark, short hair, tanned skin, and not a wrinkle on his face. Nathaniel's grin turns sharp as knives and he sits back down. "Please, take a seat, Martin."

"Thank you for meeting with me today," Martin says, not even looking at Seto. "I am sorry about the late notice."

Seto glances across the two angels then locks eyes with a human at Nathaniel's side. The man stares directly at him, grey eyes unreadable. But it's not the empty gaze like Jin's. It's sharp, focused, and  _dangerous_. Seto shivers.

"It's all fine," Nathaniel says, then takes a sip from his glass. He hums, then nods towards the angel to his left. "Junys, Martin. I believe you two have met."

"Yes, you and your brother made a few of my wing sets," Junys says. Seto glances towards him, recognizing the name. Another General, from what Martin has said. 

And, fuck, Junys is  _beautiful_. His hair is a bright silver, swept back gracefully. His eyes, a beautiful glittering grey, like moonstones, flick towards him. Seto glances away, noticing one sharp brow rise. Junys laces his fingers together, puts on leg over the other, and says, "They were quite a fine art, really. Strong, too. I wonder how you two managed to get so far from nothing."

And his voice, the shape of his eyes, his nose- Seto realizes who Adam's father is. His stomach sinks.

Martin doesn't dismiss the question like he would with anybody else. But he doesn't give a straight answer. "Hard work and practice, mostly. Becoming well-versed in anything takes time. But this isn't why I requested your council. Nathaniel, I would like to speak with you in particular."

"Go on," Nathaniel says, but his eyes are resting solely on Seto. He crumples a napkin and drops it in his human's hand. The human drops his arms, and when they come back up to cross over his chest, the napkin is gone. Seto glances toward the ground, but can't seem to find it. 

He sees Martin grin out of the corner of his eye. The angel takes out a slip of paper from inside his jacket, clean of any folds and not a blemish on it. He sets it face down and pushes it towards the middle of the table. "This is my formal challenge," he says, and Seto's blood grows cold. "A duel, two weeks from this day."

Junys glances towards Martin, then Nathaniel, eyebrows rising. He notices the other General's stare and glances toward Seto, eyes narrowing. "A duel?" Nathaniel hisses and takes the paper.

Suddenly, a cold hand is touching his arm. Seto tenses; the only reason he doesn't jump is that he's already frozen in fear.

Nathaniel's human is next to him. Seto didn't even notice him move around the table. He looks at the man for a long time, frowning, then glances towards the three angels. It's as if time has slowed; the conversation continues, but Seto feels as if he's outside of that scene, almost like he's inside a bubble.

"I warn you," the human says quietly, voice low, "You do not know what you are dealing with. You must leave at once."

Seto opens his mouth to protest - he has nowhere else to go - but the man raises a finger to his lips. Seto blinks and he's gone.

He looks back across the table as time returns to normal, only to find the human in the same spot as he was before, head bowed.

"All or nothing," Martin is saying. "I win, I take everything. You win...  _you_ have everything." His hand moves as if to gesture to the paper, but it lingers towards Seto far longer than what's necessary.

Nathaniel's eyes are still staring at him. "Everything?" he says, quietly, and glances across the paper again. "I assume your brother does not know yet."

"I will tell him if you accept. Just the same as your wife." Martin folds his hands on the table in front of him. He's perfectly still.

Nathaniel takes a long, long moment to consider. He glances once more toward Seto, and his grin is deadly. He smooths the parchment on the table, then reaches out a hand. "I accept. You have a deal."

Martin's grin matches Nathaniel's, and Seto can't stop his trembling. The angel reaches forward, shakes the General's hand, and says, "Good. I look forward to it."

"As do I, wingsmith." Nathaniel stands, straightens his jacket, and says again, "As do I."


	13. screaming at the sun you blow into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from 'other side of paradise' by glass animals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you thought this chapter would be the fight? you thought wrong. next one, don't worry.

"No.  _No_." 

Seto flinches at something crashing downstairs. Glass shatters a moment later, and he hears the distinct sound of metal sliding on metal. 

"I will  _not_ sign this, Martin! You will die, don't you realize-"

"Nitram, everything will be-"

"Do not give me that crap. You cannot even beat  _me_ , how do you expect to fight a General and get out of it alive? You- You-"

Martin tries to say something again, but Nitram cuts him off with a string of curses. There's silence for a moment, then Martin says, gently, "Nitram, I know what I'm doing."

"You're going to die. You are going to die, and you are going to leave me. You're just- throwing away all that we have worked so for! We fought for this life, Martin, we fought and _clawed_ our way here, and now you are just- you're just killing yourself! That'ss it, that is _all_ you are doing."

Seto sighs, reaching up to rub his eyes. He draws his hands through his hair and finds that the horns have finally poked through his skin. They're just two small bumps, not at all sharp, but they're there. 

The shouting resumes, this time Martin trying to step in. 

"Five days," Seto mutters to himself, "And you think they would have stopped by now."

On and off, ever since Nitram heard about the duel, they've been fighting. Mostly in some other language, one that Seto doesn't even recognize. As it turns out, Nitram would need to sign his consent for the duel to even happen. At this rate, Seto doesn't think it will.

He really, really hopes it doesn't.

"And Seto! How the hell did you- Why-" Nitram's running out of things to say. It's just been on repeat for the past five days. "You are damning him to- to that life, Martin. Don't you think Nathaniel does not recognize..."

There's silence. Seto sits up abruptly, the same thought dawning on him. He quickly scurries out of his room, sliding over to the banister to look down at the scene. The couch is overturned and the furnace is blazing - who is in control of it, he's not sure. He peers down at Martin and Nitram. 

"That's why you brought him." It's a whisper; quiet, furious. "That is why you had him with you when you challenged Nathaniel. He would not have accepted if Seto wasn't there."

Martin is silent. His eyes momentarily flick upward, but Seto ducks out of view quickly. Martin's muteness is all the answer Nitram needs.

"He will kill Seto." And he repeats it, strained. "And do you even care about that?"

"Nitram," Martin cuts in quickly, quietly, "Just sign the form."

"I refuse." Nitram paces away for a moment. "I- I am not sending my brother to his death. I will not-"

"I'm not going to die." 

" _Yes_ , you will!" The fire soars, licking out from under the furnace's opening. Seto flinches backward. He slinks towards the staircase, slowly going down it on his ass. Neither of them notices him.

"Nitram, I'll be okay. I  _made_ his wings, if I just have enough time to-"

"You are not going to get that time, Martin. Nathaniel kills anyone he duels- He has fought for this position, do you really think he will so easily hand it over?" Nitram paces around the overturned couch, hands going to run through his hair.

Seto reaches the bottom of the steps and eases around the railing, going for the door. Nitram slows in his pacing, rubbing his hand over his face. He glances over at Seto for a moment. Seto freezes at the utter look of terror and  _despair_. He has to look away. Nitram looks horrible wearing those in his eyes. 

But Nitram doesn't seem to want to drag him into the conversation. He turns on Martin and starts to say something, but Seto doesn't catch it. He quickly slips outside, shutting the door behind him quietly.

The night air is cold, but not so much as usual. Seto crosses his arms over himself, breath fogging the air. He isn't sure if it's just warmer today or if it's another...  _perk_ of growing into his angelic genes. He isn't sure which one he would like more.

Walking briskly through the garden and not giving it a passing glance, Seto goes for the woods. He isn't sure where he's walking, but he needs  _something_ to take his mind off of... everything.

Seto glances across the field when he reaches it, and goes around the edge, trying to reach the opposite side. The ground starts getting soggy and he backtracks, hurrying for a bigger tree. He hops up onto one of the roots, which is maybe about half his height, and walks along that until it starts descending. He glances around and finds another root and jumps for it, landing clumsily but not hitting the ground.

He continues like that until the field is well behind him, out of view. He pauses to glance backward, but it's not visible through the trees. With a sigh, he drops down off of the root he'd been balancing on. The ground is sturdy under his shoes. He looks around, picking a direction that he's pretty sure is toward the edge of the island and heading there. Eventually, he hears the wind howling through the trees, rattling branches and leaves together. Beneath that is the burbling sound of the creek. He follows the noise and stumbles to a halt.

A small ravine is before him, maybe eight to ten feet deep. The creek is bigger here, cascading down rocks and fallen trees. Rapids. He makes a mental note not to wander too far down the stream, lest he falls into the swift currents. As he follows the creek's flow, he realizes that it's getting bigger, calming down, and the cliffs are lowering. Soon, the trees start dwindling and he comes out into another clearing. On a second glance, though, he realizes that there's a small lake, tucked in a nest of hills and willow trees and cattails.

Seto glances around, finding a clump of rocks near the mouth of the creek. He goes toward them, keeping a wary eye out for any sinking ground, and hops up on top of the biggest one. Settling down, wincing at the cracking of his knees, he sighs and lets his shoulders slump as he tries to relax.

As he sits there, he keeps his eyes closed. And takes the time to just listen. Somewhere nearby, he hears the hungry chirping of baby birds. A few minutes pass and their squeaks crescendo as heavy flapping nears. The bird lands and the babies quiet, if only for a few moments to eat.

Something slaps the water and he opens his eyes in time to see the ripples from where a fish had jumped. Some sort of bug zips by, wings making a drumroll in Seto's ears. He shuts his eyes and sighs heavily through his nose. Thoughts of anxiety start to bite at him but he shoves them back and taps out a rhythm on the rock. 

That's where Nitram finds him, several hours later. The angel wordlessly scales the rocks and sits next to him on a lower platform. He doesn't speak, and neither does Seto. After a long, long moment, Seto glances over. Nitram is watching the lake, eyebrows furrowed.

Eventually, the angel says, quietly, "I remember making this lake."

Seto doesn't press, doesn't ask. He doesn't need to.

"Martin thought it was stupid to waste magic on making something that would probably make the island fall apart, but I thought... I don't know. We used to have a lake back where we grew up. Our brothers took us fishing. You should- You should see some of the fish we would pull out of that thing." He spreads his hands apart, almost as long as Seto is tall. "Giant koi, mostly. Not too good for eating, but fun to pull in."

He falls silent for a few minutes. Seto decides it's his turn. "Mom taught me how to garden when I was little. Of course, I- Well, I was more interested in throwing dirt balls at Jordan but. You know." He laughs, remembering, then quiets. Glances at the bracelet, runs his thumb over the charms and jewels. 

"I am sorry about what happened to her," Nitram says quietly. "I am, truly. She sounds like a charming woman."

"Strong, too," Seto mutters, taking in a deep breath. He lets it go, then says, "I don't think she ever really wanted kids."

Nitram is silent, at that. They both sit there for what seems like hours, but then he breaks the silence by saying, "Seto, if Martin loses, I... I will be stepping in."

"What do you mean? You'd-"

"It is very easy to die for people, Seto. Martin makes it too easy."

"What would happen to me?" Seto doesn't dare look at Nitram, doesn't dare see the fear that's probably still in his eyes. 

"If I step in," Nitram says, and his tone sends tremors down Seto's spine. "I will not show mercy."

Seto sharply looks over at him, but Nitram is turned away, eyes out of view. He turns, slightly, and Seto sees the jagged edge of his ear. After a long moment, he whispers, "Where we come from, there is this- belief, I guess. Mother always said it was a good omen, our birth. An angel can only create one soul at a time, and, well... Twins-" He musters up what could be a laugh. "-That is a blessing. We have never been separate, and I... I do not know what I would do without him."

Seto swallows and bites his lip, looking away. Eventually, he asks, "You think he's going to die, don't you?"

Nitram doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

[...]

Another week and the duel is drawing closer. Martin is hardly around - working on his wings, researching, or maybe he's just trying to stay as far away from Nitram as he can.

Nitram isn't okay. Seto finds him drunk most of the time and passed out on the couch for the remainder. He doesn't try to approach either of the angels. The days are mostly just spent in an anxious, restless state.

Seto isn't sure what to do. He can't go back to the Ground. If Martin loses and Nathaniel doesn't get all that was bet away, he would go  _looking_ for him. Seto feels sick at the thought.

There's just- Really no place to hide. Even if he went back to the Ground, there's no telling who he would be able to trust. He knows now that his father had kept close tabs on both him and Jordan. If he showed his face anywhere in the districts, there would be trouble.

But it's not like he could make it all the way to the East. From what he's been told, their borders are sealed tight, not allowing any sort of refugees in. Anybody who ever tried to sail across the ocean to get there never came back, and there hadn't been any letters stating that they'd made it. It's suicide to try to leave.

Seto fiddles with his amulet and tries to think of what to do. If Martin dies, Nitram will fight Nathaniel. That's the only sure thing that could happen, but- It is possible Martin might win.

He glances across the living room to where Nitram is. There are a few bottles sitting on the table, all empty except for one. The angel is laying on his back on the couch, waving his fingers in the air and creating sparking swirls of magic. Martin is probably in the shop. 

Through the window, he can see the sun starting to reach the horizon. Sighing, he goes about making dinner. Chili, because he really doesn't know much else to make. A long search through the pantry gives him some pasta. 

And when it's done, he brings a bowl to Nitram, puts the spoon in his hand, and tells him to eat. The angel slurs something about chopsticks. Seto doesn't think they have any.

He goes back to the kitchen, feet dragging, and makes a bowl for Martin. The angel probably won't come and get dinner, but he still needs to eat.

The bridge doesn't bother him as much, and he also manages to get across it without spilling any food. The bowl is cold by the time he reaches the shop, but oh well. Martin can heat it up.

He knocks on the main door, then pushes it open. The bells ring and there's a crash from further in. "Nitram, I told you-"

"It's me, Martin." Seto peers into the workshop, figuring Martin is all the way in the back. And sure enough, the angel rounds the corner, sighing. "Oh, food. Thanks, Seto, I forgot, and-"

Martin reaches out for it, but Seto pulls it just out of his reach. The angel huffs and is about to complain, but Seto cuts him off, "You can back out of this, right?"

"I- No, I can't. Nitram already signed the papers." Martin gestures back as if to explain things, but Seto feels sick.

"He what?" Something is making him dizzy. His ears are ringing.

"He signed them? Didn't he tell you." Martin carefully reaches for the bowl and takes it out of Seto's grip. "Just yesterday."

That probably explains Nitram's behavior. For some reason, he  _really_ doubts Nitram actually signed the paper. "He- Martin, you really shouldn't go through with this. He's really bad, and- I don't- I don't want to be-"

"Hey," Martin says, putting the bowl aside and kneeling down so they're on eye-level. He puts a hand on Seto's shoulder. "You don't need to worry. I have a plan, all I need is time during the duel, and it will all work out fine."

Seto searches his eyes, white meeting orange, but he can't find what he's really looking for. He isn't even sure what that  _is_.

But eventually, he says, "Okay. If you say so."


	14. oh, Lazarus, were you so afraid?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from 'blood on my name' by the brothers bright

The arena is  _huge_.

A giant redwood tree takes up the center of it; its roots grow along the ground and up over the colosseum. Seto stares at it in awe, hands gripping the railing of his booth. Most of the spectators are up in the tree branches, whistling and shouting excitedly. A few stand in booths much like his own. They have a glass roof and are built mostly out of stone. A guard sits at the doorless entrance to his. 

From where he's at, he can see all of the arena, except for the space right across from him where the tree trunk is. He glances down and to the right, where Nitram and Martin are standing at one of the entrances to the arena floor. He sees them talking, but probably wouldn't be able to hear them even without the sigil.

And at the opposite side, Nathaniel is talking to Junys, seeming at ease and relaxed. Seto shivers and hurriedly looks away as the General's eyes roam up to where he is.

Suddenly, the guard's wings rustle and he glances over, brow furrowing as two humans enter, shoved in by another angel. A girl, probably only fifteen or younger, slowly gets up from the floor, not even dusting off her pants before she hurries to stand next to Seto. Her head is shaved clear, with a tattoo on the back of it that Seto can't read. It stands out against her dark skin and he just barely keeps himself from shivering. He inches away from her and glances at the door again.

And then- there's that human again. His eyes land on Seto and there's a hint of- Disappointment? Pity? Annoyance? - in them.

"I see you are still here," the man says, completely ignoring the angels at the door. He sniffs and comes over to Seto's other side, looking out at the arena. "I told you to get out of here. This is my second warning, Seto, you must understand that you need to leave."

"I- How do you know my name?"

"Shut up in there," the guard snaps, finally noticing them talking. She only points at Seto. "I won't hesitate to throw you down there."

The man turns and glares at her, and a moment later she sighs and goes back to polishing her feathers.

"My name is Aza," he says eventually, eyes still trained on the angel outside. Eventually, he looks back at Seto- 

His eyes are off, Seto realizes. He can't really put his finger on it, but they're just...  _strange_. He doesn't want to look for too long, though, so he quickly glances over at the girl, who has stayed meek and quiet the entire time.

"That's Tallah," Aza mutters, "She can't speak."

"Oh," Seto whispers and hopes that Tallah won't ever open her mouth. He doesn't want to see the empty space where her tongue should be.

Aza nods, as if knowing Seto's disgust, and returns his attention to the arena. Seto looks out as a loud bell starts to toll. He sees Nitram pull Martin close, pressing their foreheads together. He says something (a goodbye) and then pushes Martin out to the arena.

Seto shifts anxiously. Nathaniel strolls out to his mark, just as Martin paces to his own. They're maybe fifty yards from each other. Nathaniel  _flourish-snaps_ his wings out, black feathers glinting. His right wing is missing a secondary feather. It's still down on the Ground, in the house that Seto had to abandon.

The bell tolls once more - a sixth time - and then they both snap into the air. The wind from their wings rustles Seto's hair through the open space of the booth. Aza sighs.

They're too fast. Seto can't follow them. They spin, strike, metal crashing on metal. A burst of fire, which Martin drops below, then rises, trying to catch Nathaniel across the legs.

"Get up," Aza mutters. Seto has the urge to glance at him, but he can't look away. He feels like if he does, it would be over before it even truly starts.

They stall in the air, and Seto sees that Nathaniel has drawn a sword. It's through Martin's left wing, stuck between them. Martin wrenches himself away and spins, falling, unable to fly. Seto leans forward on the railing, biting back a yell, but the angel manages to pull the sword out in time for him to land without injuring himself.

Nathaniel doesn't let him get up. The angel backtracks in the air, wings snapping forward. Spines shoot out, spearing the ground around Martin. The angel stumbles back and Seto catches a glimpse of one through his arm. He swiftly pulls it out, then hurries back into the air. He spirals, spirals, then turns just as Nathaniel is going to meet him. Catches the General across the chest with a wing, drops back, rises higher and kicks off from the tree trunk. Nathaniel dodges, trying to gain the upper hand.

As they go higher in the air, the spectators in the tree get louder. A few squawk in alarm as the two land on a branch and exchange blows. Seto watches as a few angels drop down, only to hurry to a different branch.

They climb up the tree and Seto loses sight of them. He chances a glance at Aza, only to find the human glaring upward. Seto follows his gaze, but it's nowhere near the tree or the fight. He shakes his head and glances at Tallah, only to find that she's close to tears.

He tries not to think about why.

Martin suddenly bursts from the leaves, folding his wings and dropping just in time to avoid a blast of fire. Nathaniel is after him soon after, diving toward him. Martin glances back, but continues to drop. At the last second, he snaps his wings out and swoops over the ground. Nathaniel curses - loudly - as he clumsily hits the ground and has to waste a few precious seconds to get back up. 

"He made new wings, right?" Aza asks, and Seto jerks in surprise at the question.

Seto nods and Aza looks pleased. "He's faster," he says after a moment, pointing out at the two. "Nathaniel is trying to use brute strength, but Martin is faster."

"Do you think he will win?"

Aza is silent for a long time. Seto flinches back as licks of flame get a bit too close to their booth. Martin swoops by, blood splattering behind him from injuries, followed quickly by Nathaniel.

"It's not in anyone's plan for him to die so early," Aza mutters, almost so quietly that Seto can't hear him.

"What do you-"

There's a strangled scream from the arena and Seto whips back to find Martin pinned to the trunk, trying to wrench a spine from his shoulder. He's pinned. Nathaniel cackles, swooping around and backtracking to shoot another batch. Distantly, Nitram screams something. 

The next few spines hit Martin's left wing, pinning it as well, and then his stomach. Martin lurches forward, gasping, just as he manages to pull the first. He waves a hand, as if shoving something aside, and suddenly the spines race backward. Nathaniel yelps and tries to dodge, but slews to the right. Seto catches a glimpse of him pulling his own spine form his leg.

Martin crumples to the ground, just barely picking himself up in time to block Nathaniel's pounce. His wings grown, but he shoves the General back and clambers to his feet, limping and stumbling to the side. Aza curses under his breath, muttering in some other language.

Nathaniel drops to the ground, picking his sword up from where it had been dropped. Martin takes the chance and spins back into the air, hauling himself up using branches. Nathaniel growls something, barks a laugh, then rises up after him. They spiral up, up, up, up, parrying, counter-attacking, dodging. Martin is slowing, blood streaming from his wounds like rain. Seto feels sick to his stomach.

And suddenly, something changes. Martin drops a good twenty feet in the air - it doesn't look like he did it on purpose. Nathaniel laughs and his attacks suddenly seem lazy. He corrals Martin toward the ground, blows glancing over him, driving him toward the dirt, toward death. 

The guard at their booth looks up from her wings, polished and clean, and shakes her head. She snorts a laugh and says, "Surprised he got this far."

"No," Seto whispers, ignoring Aza's glance. "Wait, he can't-"

There's a crackling explosion, racing downward, and a scream. The smoke plumes out then settles. Nathaniel is standing over Martin, panting, but grinning. The sword is speared through Martin's chest.

The angel doesn't move to pull it out. His wings are still arched up as if to block, but as Seto watches, mind reeling, they slowly, slowly descend. They creak all the way down, as if pained.

Nitram screams, leaping forward, held back by a few other angels. Baki is one of them. Seto looks away, to Martin, then to Nitram, to Aza. The man's eyes are wide, shock written clear on his face. For a second, his form  _flickers_ , and his eyes flash, so _wrong_ , unnatural. Seto blinks, but then he's back to normal.

"That's not supposed to happen," Aza murmurs and glances upward again. "God- damn it..."

The bell starts to toll.

Long, low, haunting notes, shaking Seto's bones and core every time they roll.

Nathaniel makes a gesture and the guard at the booth reaches in and grabs Seto by the arm. He doesn't realize what's happening until she's in the air, hauling him down. He screams, kicks and struggles, and catches her in the wrist. With a curse, she flings him the rest of the way. He bounces, then rolls, coughing when he comes to a stop. His side and hip are aching, but his attention is pulled firstly to Nathaniel's feet. Then to Martin.

The angel's eyes are open wide, pained and staring towards the sky. He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Seto spits out mud made by blood and tries to get to his feet. A hand is around his throat and he tries to scream, but nothing comes out aside from a gasp.

Nathaniel grins at him, squeezing, and quietly, so quietly, whispers, "I should have dealt with you all those years ago. But I guess this is as good of an opportunity as any."

He shakes Seto. Hard. Something cracks in his neck, but he can still kick and struggle so he doesn't think anything is broken. He gasps for air, vision swimming, blood roaring in his ears. He reaches up to try and pry the angel's fingers away from his throat. The bell is still tolling. 

"Your mother has caused me and my brother far too much trouble," Nathaniel says, not a waver in his voice. "I watched her burn. I watched the life leave her eyes, and I found pleasure in it. And now I will do the same to you, you little-"

Something hits the back of Nathaniel's head. Everything abruptly goes quiet.

The General turns around, dropping Seto like dead weight. He gasps for air, coughing, trying not to choke. He looks up, watching in - relief, awe - as Martin slowly rises to his knees, sword speared into the ground and helping him stand. The angel sniffs, wiping his hand across his face and smearing blue blood. Seto almost expects him to start laughing. He picks up another pebble and pitches it at Nathaniel, smacking the General in the forehead with it.

Nathaniel growls and steps forward, only to have his wings jerk out, the leftover spines shooting to embed into the ground behind him. Seto flinches back, staring at the one that had just barely missed his hand.

Martin gets to his feet with a groan and sends Nathaniel a grin. He spits at him, the glob of blue hitting Nathaniel, and says, "Bitch."

Then he's in the air.

Nathaniel howls and leaps after him, scrambling to claw him back to the dirt and mud. 

Something hits the ground in front of Seto. He winces back, but frowns, and reaches over to grab the small bolt. SOmething else hits the ground and he casts a sharp glance, coughing at the movement, to find that there's a screw.

Then a small piece of metal lands further away. He looks up, eyes widening, in time to watch another piece of metal flying away from Nathaniel's wings.

Hands are suddenly scooping him up, raising into the air. He clutches close to Nitram, coughing despite the relief. 

"It's okay," Nitram whispers, "I have you. We will be okay."

They land nearby, though, at the very edge of the colosseum. 

Nitram doesn't put him down, for which Seto's thankful. He doesn't want to risk being pulled away like that again. 

They both watch as the two spiral up and up; Martin just barely stays out of Nathaniel's reach. 

Pieces of metal drop down, accelerating quickly into whole feathers. Martin turns, slows, and kicks Nathaniel in the head just as his wings fail.

The angel falls with a scream, and a hand clawing upwards. 

"Don't look," Nitram hisses, turning him away. Seto twists back just in time to see Nathaniel hit the ground with a  _thump_ , impaled on his own spines. He gurgles, shrieking, still thrashing. Martin lands heavily, collapsing to his knees. He looks up and grimaces, and pulls a knife from his belt. Nitram moves, suddenly, and Seto realizes that Martin must have stolen his dagger.

Martin limps toward Nathaniel, wings hanging limply behind him, strength absent. He stops just out of Nathaniel's reach. From where he's at, Seto can hear him hiss, "This is for him. For his mother. For me, and my family. Damn you."

He brings his hand up and strikes down. Seto flinches, expecting him to get Nathaniel's skull. Instead, he keeps the knife shallow and carves something into Nathaniel's chest.

Seto can  _feel_ when the sigil is activated. It sends Martin flying back, gasping, turning over and coughing. Nitram staggers, breath turning sharp, all while Seto's vision whites out. 

Angels fall from the tree, only to hurry and fly away. There's screaming. Seto distantly realizes it's Nathaniel. He's thrashing, steam rising from his skin, howling in  _pain_. Seto shivers in Nitram's grip, feeling sick. He dry-heaves and Nitram quickly sets him down, looking sick himself.

Martin  _laughs_. He cackles, rolling onto his back. He gurgles and coughs and howls in laughter. 

Nathaniel never stops screaming. But eventually, his skin sinks, deflating, and his struggles cease. His agonized shrieking still echoes; that and Martin's chuckling are all that fill the silence.

After a long few minutes, the bell starts tolling.

Baki shrieks down into the arena before it even stops, stumbling to a landing next to Martin. He screams for someone and Nitram leaps down without another word to Seto. 

"I told you," Aza says. Seto looks over at him, eyes wide. The man glances at him, and his eyes aren't  _right_. He smiles, but there's nothing malicious about it. Aza stares at him for a moment, then tilts his head, smiles wider, and says, "Didn't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew ok there we go. i've been waiting so long to post this chapter. glad it's finally over.
> 
> also you should probably pay attention to the chapter titles.


	15. oh i hear them sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the angels call to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'carry me back home' by blues saraceno

Tallah won't stop crying.

Seto feels sick every time he is around her, so he tries his best to avoid dealing with... that. What could he even do? It's not like she can talk to state what is wrong, and it's not like he would have the words to comfort her. 

But she won't stop. It's unnerving, really. He  _knows_ why she's doing it. He tells himself that it's not the right reason, that she's probably just upset about- about...

Aza tells him, an hour after they get to the hospital (two hours after Martin killed Nathaniel), tells him, "She'll be okay. I'm not sure when she'll be over- This. But she'll be okay."

Seto has a vague thought, one that he pushes away almost instantly. What about Aza? It's clear he isn't upset at all about Nathaniel's death; he seems pleased, even. Happy. As if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. And Seto guesses that something  _has_ because suddenly Aza is relaxed and at ease as if nothing else can go wrong.

It unnerves him.

Nitram's voice rises, somewhere down the hallway. Seto isn't exactly sure who he's shouting at. It can't be Baki - the angel hasn't left the operation room since Martin arrived. It can't be Jin, either, because the human is with his owner. But he'd heard Nitram talk to Baki, as they were racing him here, how the form had  _not_ been signed by him. He thinks Martin forged the signature.

Tallah sniffs pitifully and Seto glances across the hall to her. She's curled on the floor, next to a chair. She keeps running her thumb over the tag on her collar. Seto tears his eyes away and looks at Aza, to find the man has his eyes closed, breath calm. When did he fall asleep?

Everything about the situation is  _horrible_.

Sighing, and then wincing at the pain in his throat, Seto kicks his feet against the legs of his chair. After a long moment, he pulls up his sleeve. Nitram had gotten him a long-sleeved shirt, especially for going out, so the sigil was easier to put on. He passes a thumb over it, frowning at the smeared charcoal. It's still holding up, despite everything, but he doesn't think it matters at the moment. As far as he knows, the hospital is safe. He'd taken it off here before.

So he licks his thumb and smears the mark, and all his senses slam into him at once. Aza sighs as if disappointed. "You should've kept that on."

"I hate it." His voice cracks horribly and he coughs. He glances over at the man, and doesn't question how Aza knows. "And I hate being- blind and deaf, like that."

Aza nods, as if fully understanding, but still doesn't open his eyes. Maybe he's meditating. He seems weird enough to do that.

The smell of dried blood and mud hits his nose first and he sneezes, then slides off the chair. Aza cracks open an eye but he doesn't say anything. 

Seto wanders down the hall, step faltering at the familiar clacking of a heart monitor. It's too slow. He stops at the door to his right, staring at the crack, where a white bar of light is escaping. A shadow moves inside, then another. He draws his gaze to the door handle, but he knows he can't interrupt. It wouldn't do Martin any good.

Deciding to just find a bathroom to wash up in, he hurries down the hall, coming out to the main lobby. Surprisingly, Simon is sitting at the desk chair, slumped forward with a hand supporting his face. His blue eyes flick up and freeze on Seto, but then he sighs and sits up. He's shirtless, Seto realizes, but bandages cover most of his chest. Simon looks away from him, toward Nitram. 

Seto follows his gaze, but can't stand the sight of Nitram listlessly, worriedly, slumped in a chair, hand hiding his eyes. 

"Do you know where a bathroom is?" he whispers, voice hoarse, as loud as he can get it, and Simon's eyes turn sharp when they land on him. Seto shrinks back, shifting in place. Eventually, Simon sighs and gestures back the way Seto had come. 

"Any of the rooms. Towels are under the sink." After a moment, he glances down at his clothes. "What, did you go through a fucking pig pen?"

"Nathaniel," Seto croaks out, and Simon hides his flinch by shaking his head. 

Figuring that's as much as he'll get out of the angel, Seto turns to leave with only one more glance cast toward Nitram. He hasn't stirred. Maybe he's asleep. Seto doubts it. He casts them both one glance backward before heading to the nearest room, slipping in and jabbing uselessly at the wall for a light switch. Eventually, he must hit a sigil or something, because lights flicker on a moment later. Blinking at the sudden light, Seto glances around. It doesn't look to be any sort of operation room, so he won't be getting in anyone's way by taking a shower here. Going for the bathroom door and, once again, jabbing at the wall, he has to pause at how big the room is, once he can properly see it.

The bathroom back at the twins' house is  _small_ compared to this. In retrospect, he guesses that it is small. For them, at least. But four or five angels could probably fit inside this one without being crowded. He frowns at the sink, which is weirdly short. 

SHaking his head, he peels the gross clothes off of him, flinching as his shirt gets stuck on- something. Wait. Wait, holy shit-

Seto whips around, trying to twist his neck back to look at where the bump on his back had been. His throat hates him for it, so he reaches back with a hand, freezing at the small tail there. It's about the length of his hand, so much longer than it was two weeks ago. He can't move it, but it twitches when he runs his fingers over it. Maybe if he-

Okay,  _fuck_ , pulling it  _hurts_.

Biting back a yell, he leans on the sink, looking up at the mirror. The horns aren't yet poking through his hair, but when he parts the brown locks, they're  _there_. He hadn't noticed them growing over the past two weeks. He hadn't cared enough to notice. 

But now, here they are, black little nubs. They aren't sticking straight up, thank god, but they're curving back slightly. He thinks, eventually, he might let them grow out, just to see what they look like. 

Seto briefly lets a thought sink in. He'll have to saw them off. Just like Nitram and Martin, he'll have to cut them off.

Grimacing at his reflection, at the horrible swelling and bruises, Seto shakes his head and finishes stripping. The shower has a seat in it, which he awkwardly steps over. The water turns on with a sputter, raining down in front of him. Sadly, it goes straight for the seat.

Sighing, he resigns himself to sitting down while he showers. His legs are grateful for it, as are his ribs. But then he has to shift, reach back and pull the tail out from where it had been crushed. Fuck, he's not going to enjoy having this. As a kid, he'd always wanted wings, or a tail, or strange eyes, but now-

Now that it's real, he's...

Well.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, and deciding to just shower and get it over with, he reaches for the soap dispenser on the wall.

[...]

It's another sixteen hours before Baki comes out of the operation room. Nitram is there, silent and bristling with worry and desperation, but Baki waves him off, as much as he can while he's slumped against the wall. "He's- He'll be okay. I- I can't let you see him, yet, he's only just now stable, but- I'm pretty sure he'll-"

Nitram won't have it. Seto almost doesn't, either. He tries to follow Nitram into the room, but Aza grabs his sleeve and keeps him held back despite his protesting.

Baki gives him a weary look and, hell, he looks horrible. But then he turns and goes into the room again, almost tumbling over Jin, who is carrying out bundles of bloodied cloth. 

"Nitram, you can't-"

There's a crackle of magic and Baki yelps and stumbles out of the room, pale as a sheet. He mutters something about  _easterners_ and leaves. He gives Seto another look, then shakes his head and goes to the lobby. 

Aza has already moved back to his seat. When he did that, Seto isn't sure. But he takes the opportunity and hurries into the room. 

He glances past all the machines, the wires, and the bloody tools still out on counters and trays, and-

Martin seems small against the bed. Frail, even. He's pale from blood loss and his eyes are closed. If not for the EKG machine clacking away, he would have thought-

No, no, he won't let himself go there.

Nitram is already at Martin's side, not saying anything, just staring down at where he's resting his own hand on his brother's. He does look up for a moment when Seto walks in. But he looks away just as quickly, back down to Martin.

Seto isn't sure what to do with himself. He's been in a hospital before, back on the Ground, when Jordan had gotten really sick. But he'd been too young to remember much of it. He'd mostly sat on the floor and colored and waited for his brother to wake up. But now, now he's here, and he doesn't know what to _do_.

Eventually, deciding it was too awkward to just stand there, he drags over an extra chair and sits down opposite of Nitram.

It takes a while for him to gather the courage to speak. Before that, though, he sits on his hands and tries not to stare at the small cuts and bruises across Martin's face. He focusses on the heart monitor, watches it spike up and down and up and down and-

"He's so stupid," Nitram says softly. So quietly that Seto almost doesn't hear him.

Seto doesn't really have anything to say to that. He agrees, of course, but he isn't even sure if Nitram is even talking to him. Eventually, after the other angel doesn't say anything else, he asks, "What did he- What did he do to Nathaniel?"

Nitram doesn't move, doesn't respond. Seto opens his mouth to repeat his question, but then the angel sighs. After a second, he mutters, "The one you had, Seto, is a suppressing sigil. What Martin made- It was... a cross between that and a banishing one. Effective, and... Gruesome."

Nathaniel's screams echo in Seto's ears for a second. He shivers and tugs the borrowed shirt closer around him. It's twice his size, but was the smallest one he was able to find. He sniffs and sinks lower in his seat.

Nitram doesn't try to continue the conversation, so he stays silent. The clacking of the heart monitor continues on.

[...]

And it's three hours later, while Baki is asleep, and Seto's about to doze off, that the machine starts screaming.

Nitram is to his feet immediately, eyes flashing pink, hands already going to Martin's chest. The hairs on the back of Seto's neck rise at the electric feel of magic bursting forth. He shoves the chair back and stands, unsure of what to do.

Whatever Nitram finds, it isn't good. He pales and gives Seto one wide-eyed, panicked look, before barking, "Get Baki, Seto! Go!"

Seto rushes out of the room, nearly colliding with Aza. He pushes past the man and races for the lobby. Nobody's there. Panicking, looking around, knowing he doesn't have much time, he goes for one of the doors behind the desk.

And runs immediately into Baki. 

"It's Martin, he's-"

Baki doesn't waste time talking. He sprints for the room, Seto close on his heels, but when they get there, the machines are back to normal. 

Aza is hovering at the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. Nitram is panting, shaking, whether from relief or fear Seto can't tell. He moves aside for Baki, taking a moment to calm down before he says, "I- I don't know what happened. The machine went off and I felt for what was wrong and his second- the heart, it- But then it just- It stopped, I mean, it-" 

He devolves into some other language, which earns a look from Baki. After a long few minutes, the doctor ushers Seto out of the room, closing the door behind him. The two angels talk in low voices; Seto can't understand what they're saying.

He glances over at Aza to find him already sitting back down, idly flipping through a magazine. Frowning, Seto goes to his original seat next to him, casting a look towards Tallah, who has woken up because of the commotion. She doesn't look at him.

Seto lets out a long exhale through his nose and glances down at the magazine Aza is reading. He doesn't recognize the language it's in. "Where'd you get that?"

Aza pauses but doesn't look up. He frowns as if he wasn't expecting a question. "Somewhere over there," he says, waving a hand in the air. 

Seto leans over, casting a glance over the colorful pages. He blinks, finding he can't really comprehend it. "What- What language is that in?"

Aza huffs and raises the magazine, effectively blocking Seto's view to it and his face. "Don't know."

Biting back questions and complaints, Seto crosses his arms and sinks lower into his chair. He glances up as Baki comes out, but the angel doesn't say anything. 

Taking that as his cue, he gets up and hurries back in. Nitram is back in his seat, arms crossed on the bed with his head laying on them. Figuring he shouldn't disturb, Seto settles down into his own seat where it's pushed away.

He spends the rest of the night looking anywhere but the bed.

[...]

"Nitram, I have to be honest with you." Baki's voice is hushed, sympathetic. "I- I'm trying to do all I can, but-"

"No, no, do not- Do not  _say_ this shit," Nitram hisses back, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You said he would be fine, you said-"

"But I'm not  _sure_ ," Baki cuts in. "All I'm saying is- I've had many patients before in this bad of a state, and they- Most of them don't- They don't make it through. Nitram, there's a- a big possibility that he won't wake up-"

Nitram growls and whirls away, pacing. His eyes momentarily flick over to where Seto is, still crouched on his seat, watching the exchange with wide eyes. Their gazes lock, and for one second, Seto can almost see the cogs turning in the angel's head.

"Nitram, you need to have a plan. If he doesn't, then-"

"Then things are already worked out," Nitram bites, which shuts Baki up. "The morning of the duel, he-"

Seto glances over at Martin. He hasn't woken in the three days that they've been there.

"Legally," Nitram says, voice quiet, "Things will be okay. There are- Papers, signed, a will... He thought things through."

"That's-" Baki searches for words. "That's good. I- Nobody would be able to oppose you, Nitram, whatever you choose to do. If that is the case, at least."

"I am aware." That seems to be the end of the conversations, but then as Baki is leaving, he turns around.

"Take the humans and Seto home, Nitram. Sitting around here won't help anything. And you need to sleep."

Nitram glowers at him but looks away. Seto rubs his eyes, leaning his elbow on the armrest. He won't leave, he knows that. Nitram won't, either. He thinks it would take a dozen other angels to drag him away from Martin.

Plates of uneaten food are sitting on the windowsill, where Nitram sets them every time Baki gives them. Nitram hasn't slept and, if he has, it was only lightly. Seto hates the- the blatant disregard to his own health. But he isn't sure he should say anything. He understands, really, which is  _why_ he isn't sure.

(He tries not to think about how bad Nitram must have been after his and Martin's duel.)

[...]

Tallah seems relieved to go home, if even more teary-eyed than normal. Simon, surprisingly, is the one to try and take them home. Seto guesses it's the easiest way. They can't afford to have Baki leave.

When Seto looks up to find Simon coming down the hall, dressed and held tall, he wouldn't have guessed the angel was even injured. But he walks with a slight limp, no matter how much he seems to be trying to hide it. 

Aza glances up from his book (Where he got it, Seto has no idea.) and sighs. He returns to it and ignores the angel as he walks by. 

Simon stops at Tallah and she scrambles to her feet, head down, hands folded in front of her. When he glances over at Seto, his mouth twists. "Come on, I have to bring you home."

Seto glowers at him, raises an eyebrow, and sinks lower into his seat. Simon rolls his eyes and sighs but doesn't press it. He walks away with Tallah.

"Why didn't he get you?" Seto asks Aza. He looks up from the old pages for a moment, eyes trained on Simon's back. They're calculating, cold, and Seto is abruptly reminded he doesn't even know what Aza's deal is.

"Guess I got the golden ticket," Aza muses, going back to reading.

But after a second, he mutters, "It's best not to ask, Seto. Asking things gets you killed."

 

 


	16. isle of flightless birds

Baki doesn't think Martin will wake up.

Seto sees it in the set of his mouth and eyes whenever he leaves that room. He doesn't think Martin will make it through. Seto is more inclined to believe the actual doctor over Aza. He doesn't want to, though, so whenever Aza tells him that Martin will be fine, he nods along and tries to make himself think that as well.

Multiple times, when Seto quietly slips into the room, he finds Nitram hunched over Martin, his eyes glowing pink. Nitram never says what he's doing, and makes sure to never do it in front of Baki. Seto gets the feeling that healing magic is one of those that Nitram doesn't want to boast. 

And sometimes, when Seto can't sleep, and he sits on the windowsill with his eyes closed, he hears Nitram humming a song. Over, and over, a quiet lullaby. Very rarely does he speak the words, but when he does they're in a language Seto doesn't know.

Baki suggests they take residency in another room. Seto gives in after another day, a total of a week and four days after they arrived. He takes the room across from Martin's, but Nitram never leaves. He wishes Nitram would. The angel has barely left Martin's side since they arrived; it isn't healthy. And as far as healthy goes, he doesn't think Aza sleeps, either. Or maybe he hides away in some other room and Seto just hasn't noticed yet.

Baki seems to be getting worse, as well. The late nights and restless sleep are obviously getting to him. Seto worries that, if it gets too bad, he won't be alright enough to act quickly if something happens.

Because knowing Seto's luck, something will happen.

[...]

Two nights later, Seto wakes up to screaming. His first reaction is to want to run to Martin because he isn't sure who else could be screaming. It's either Nitram or Baki and  _neither_  of those options is okay.

So he falls out of bed, scrambles for his pants, and hurries out into the hallway. He's buckling his belt when he's suddenly pressed against the wall by an arm. Seto yelps, nearly reaching up to shove the attacker off, when he realizes it's just Nitram. Who is hastily drawing a sigil on the back of his hand. "There's a deathbell case, Seto, you have to stay in your room."

"A what?" Seto looks up at him, taken back by how tired he is. Nitram glances down the hallway, toward the lobby. Seto follows his gaze and freezes.

An angel is thrashing around on the floor, desperately trying to reach anything to get his bindings off. Baki is standing back, holding a towel over his face. He's screaming at someone else in the lobby, but from where Seto's at he can't see who it is.

The man on the ground is sobbing, screaming incomprehensibly. He seizes suddenly, body jerking back and forth, uncontrolled, but nobody makes a move to hold him down or make sure his head doesn't smack against the ground.

Nitram suddenly shoves a cloth over Seto's mouth and whispers, "There are other people here, Seto, you need to get back in your room. Whatever you do, do  _not_  come out until I tell you-"

Something changes suddenly in the atmosphere. Baki stumbles back before it even starts happening. It's like he knows the warning signs. The sick angel freezes in his movements, eyes staring wide up at the ceiling. As if he's looking at something, listening to someone. His mouth moves, silent, and then he's getting to his knees.

Baki screams, "Get back! Get back!" 

There are panicked shouts and the sound of the door opening. The man leans back, almost tips onto his back. Baki's cry of telling them not to leave- "Holy  _fuck_  wait, don't leave! No!" - is drowned out by the sound of the angel cracking his own head against the floor.

Blood splatters and Baki stumbles away, ducking behind the desk. He looks up, just barely able to meet Seto's horrified look. He waves at him and Nitram, telling them to go, and puts a finger to his lips.

The angel starts cackling and he stumbles to his feet, running into the wall, and suddenly he's sobbing. Blood streams down his forehead from where he'd bashed it into the floor and wall. He staggers to the right and suddenly his feverish eyes are on Nitram and Seto.

Nitram tenses, bristling, and yanks Seto into his arms. He's running before Seto even realizes what's happening. The sound of the angel's laughing is gaining, gaining- Nitram slides into an empty room and slams the door, tossing Seto away and quickly locking the doorknob. There's a heavy thud against it a second later.

Then another, and another. It repeats until something slumps against the door and slides down onto the floor. The light from the hallway is mostly blocked, all of a sudden.

Seto stares at the space under the door, holding his hand to his mouth. He staggers away and empties his stomach into a trash can. A glance at Nitram shows him that the angel looks ill as well.

"What was that?" Seto whispers hoarsely, scrubbing at his mouth with the towel. Nitram suddenly scrambles backward, tipping over a metal cart. Seto looks toward him and then over at the door, where blood is seeping in through the bottom. 

Suddenly, Nitram is hauling Seto up by his arm. "Deathbell," Nitram whispers, "It- You can't go near it. Put this on."

Nitram starts to pull a mask on over Seto's face. He grabs it and tugs it down the rest of the way, glancing up to find Nitram doing the same.

"I- we can't leave?"

"Not until it is cleaned up." Nitram doesn't dare raise his voice above a whisper. "Only angels can have it, I- I am not sure about you, Seto."

"It just- It- It makes them go insane?"

Nitram is silent for a while, then he says, "I'll tell you later. You- You didn't get any on you, right?"

"No, I- I'm good. So we just- we have to wait for Baki?" Seto picks a seat on the large windowsill. It's as far away as he can get. 

Nitram nods and sits down on the armchair near Seto. "Just- Yeah, we have to wait for Baki."

[...]

It's another five hours before Baki opens the door. He motions for them not to move as he cleans up the blood that had seeped in. His hazmat suit unnerves Seto, blue smears on it a stark contrast against the white. 

Once it's cleaned, Baki stands and says, "Stay here until I tell you."

"The other angels?" Nitram asks, "Are they infected?"

Baki doesn't answer that question. He points to the back wall; Seto and Nitram back up to stand against it. Left alone again, Seto glances sideways at Nitram. "We- We're alright, right?"

"What?"

"We're not infected?"

Nitram glances toward the door. "I want to say no. We won't be able to tell for a while, anyway, so for a week or so we'll have to be kept in solitary."

"Wait- Solitary-" 

But then Baki is back in a clean suit. He makes his way over and sets down a case. "Put these on, get rid of your old clothes. I'll have to burn them."

Seto's hand shoots to his wrist, momentarily panicking. But his mother's bracelet is home, tucked away safely in a drawer along with his amulet. Nitram, though, has his hand on his side, where his dagger is.

Baki notices his movement and sighs. "I-... We'll figure something out."

"I'm not getting rid of it," Nitram hisses.

"Just- put it in the case once you're dressed. We'll figure out what to do with it." When Nitram doesn't stop glaring, Baki sighs again. "Nitram, if an outbreak happens-"

"I understand." Nitram smoothly unsheaths it, turning the blade in the light, probably looking at it for what might be the last time. Then he slides it back into its hold and unbuckles the strap from his belt. Sets it on the counter, ignoring Baki's instructions.

Baki gives them privacy to change. Nitram lets Seto take the bathroom.

Once he's changed and the clothes he was wearing are bundled in his hands, Seto goes back out to find Baki there again, quietly talking with Nitram. "-room was locked. He's fine. I put his room at the end of the hall for a reason; nothing reached him, so he'll be okay."

"It's not airborne, right?" Seto asks, grabbing Baki's attention. Nitram looks away to the case that holds his dagger. "Like, how does it spread?"

"Fluids. Blood, spit, mucus, the likes," Baki answers. "Oils on skin, too. Don't ever touch someone you think might have deathbell."

He picks up the case and motions for them to follow. Seto sticks close to Nitram, glancing at the clean lobby. The doors are boarded up, as are the windows that Seto can see. 

"Nobody in, nobody out," Baki says. "One of the men who brought the first case is in solitary, but the other two- They left."

"What if more cases show up?"

Baki glances back at Seto. "We've dealt with outbreaks before. We'll deal with it again, and we'll survive. Do either of you take any medication, any special diet?"

Nitram mutters something about being allergic to certain types of nuts. Seto doesn't say anything about his testosterone shots. It's not due for another few days and it won't hurt to skip it. 

"Get me a bottle, though, would you Baki?" Nitram asks as they descend a set of stairs. Seto glances back at Baki as he shuts and deadbolts the door. The stairwell is washed in darkness and, with the sigil on, Seto can't make anything out.

"Sure. What kind?"

"Fucking strongest you can find," Nitram mutters, guiding Seto down the stairs. 

"Why aren't the lights on?" Seto asks, blindly stumbling when he reaches the bottom of the steps.

"Deathbell slowly erodes the eyes," Baki says, "Causes them to water. More fluids to pass around. If it's lit up and one gets out, they have an easier time finding you."

Seto shivers at his words, flinching when Baki's hand lands on his shoulder. The angel stops him and opens a door Seto couldn't see. Cold air washes over them, but he can't feel it through the mask. "You're free to take the sigil off once you're in here, Seto. You'll be in a decontamination room at first. Take off the suit, put on the clothes in there, then go in. I'll give you a few minutes."

"Yeah- Got it." He casts one more glance at Nitram, at his glowing red eyes, and then he's in the decontamination room. The door hisses shut behind him.

He glances around, glad to find that there are small lights where the walls meet the ceiling. It's not much, but it's enough. He quickly strips from the suit and drops it, stepping out and giving it a wide berth.

Shivering at the cold air, he quickly dresses in the clothes sitting on a small counter. They aren't very heavy - it feels like he could probably tear them if he tried. And then, on second thought, that's probably their purpose.  

He glances around for a moment, finding a shower to his right, and a toilet on his left. How he's supposed to get back in here to use them, he isn't sure. A glance at the door shows that there's a small window. He steps over to it, standing on his toes to peer out. Movement outside, and then Baki is glancing in. Seto flinches back, surprised.

Baki looks to the side, and then his voice crackles on over a speaker. "There's a call button in the other room, press it to let me know if you need anything. Depending on how things go, you can be in here a week or two."

"Fucking hell," Seto mutters, stepping towards the other door. It hisses open, showing the dark room. A moment later, lights on the floor glow to life. They're too dim to make much out, but they're something. 

"Lights turn off at ten," Baki says, "I'm going to be checking on you every day, somewhere around noon. I'll bring meals, you don't have to worry about that."

"Water?"

Baki hesitates. There's a bit of silence before he says, "I'll bring some bottles."

"What, do you not usually give the sick water?"

"If they're infected, it's best if they're weak. Go inside."

He hastily steps into the room, flinching as the door slams shut behind him.

It's just a padded cell. The lights don't seem to have a source, so he figures they're magic. The room is- very small. For him. For a fully grown angel- He wonders if Nitram is able to even lay down all the way.

There's a pile of heavy blankets in one corner, but nothing else. Seto rubs his arms against the cold because  _damn_ , it's fucking freezing. "Fuck this," he mutters, kicking the corner of a blanket. He bends down to pick it up, finding that it's incredibly heavy and thick. Sighing, he drops himself onto the pile, pulling one over him. 

He's in there for maybe a few minutes before he decides he's going to lose his  _mind_ the next week or two. It's not possible. He won't- 

Seto casts a glance up. He's never been claustrophobic, but this- This is horrible. He wants space, he wants the sky. With a frown, he rubs off the sigil on his hand, but it's still so  _silent_. There aren't any outside noises, there's just- Him. And the room.

Squirming uneasily, Seto starts to lay down. Maybe he'll catch up on sleep in here. Not like there's much else to do.

Then, suddenly, a voice, "Seto?"

He sits up abruptly, glancing to his right. "Nitram? You-"

"Yeah, I'm here." Nitram's voice is muffled by the wall, but it Seto can hear it. Seto listens closely and hears Nitram pacing.

"Baki will be okay, right?" Seto asks after a moment of quiet. "Like, he was pretty close to everything."

"Baki..." Nitram hesitates, then says, "He isn't immune, I know, but he is- A bit different from everyone, I think. He made the cure for the deathbell, but it is- finicky. "

"Finicky? What, so like he doesn't have it just laying around?" 

"No. He should be making it now."

Seto shifts in his pile of blankets, silently wondering how Nitram isn't shivering like he is. "Why does he keep it so cold in here?"

He can practically imagine Nitram shrugging. "I am not an expert, sorry Seto."

They both fall silent for a while. Then there's a mumbled curse and shuffling.

"You should sleep," Seto tells him. Nitram starts to protest, but he cuts him off. "Have you gotten  _any_ since we got here?"

Nitram doesn't reply, which is an answer in and of itself. But Seto doesn't want to spend the next week arguing over it, so he drops the topic. There's a soft thud, probably Nitram sitting down.

After a moment, he says, "Which Above language do you want to learn?"

"Oh, um, uh... Both?"

Nitram chuckles and stuffs his hands under his head. "Right, we will start with the eastern one."

[...]

Seto must have fallen asleep, eventually. He opens his eyes to it being dark and sits up, rubbing his forehead. Baki said he'd turn the lights off at nighttime, so he must have slept through half the day. "Why doesn't he put windows in here?"

There's silence for a moment. Seto's hopes of Nitram being asleep are dashed a moment later when Nitram mutters, "They might hurt themselves with the glass."

"Oh." He bundles a blanket tighter around his shoulders. It's  _cold_ , damn it. "When did I fall asleep?"

"Just a- a little while ago." Looks like Nitram can't really tell time, either.

Suddenly, there's shouting outside. Seto tenses, head whipping around to the door. He hears Baki saying something, and then  _feels_ the pulse of magic. It makes Seto slide back a few inches. 

A door slams, then a moment later another one, then the bangs repeat. Seto listens, trying to hear for Baki. He's about to call out, but Nitram beats him to it. "Baki, are you alright?"

A moment, then the speakers in Nitram's room crackle on. "Be careful what you say, Nitram, we caught one of the others. He's infected." 

"Any others?" 

Baki hesitates. Then, "I have it under control. I'll be back in a few hours to check up on you two."

Once Baki leaves, Seto hears Nitram mutter, "Under control my ass. He only brought in one person, there were three out there excluding the first."

Something about that doesn't sit well with Seto.

Another voice sounds suddenly, much more muffled, and distant. "I'm Tullus. Who are you two?"

Seto bites his lip. That's another angel in there; he can't- He doesn't want to risk saying anything. Nitram is silent, so he doesn't seem to want to either.

Eventually, the other angel spits, "Fine."

[...]

The next time one of them speaks, it's Tullus. "It's so hot in here. Why doesn't he turn the damn air on? It's bad enough I have to sit in here."

Seto glances up to the door from his pile of blankets.  _He_ hasn't been able to stop shivering. It's  _freezing_. "Uh- It's really cold, though."

Nitram hisses at him sharply, but Tullus just laughs. "Fuck, he has a fledgling in here? What kind of doctor is he?"

Seto bites back his retort. Nitram doesn't say anything, either. 

Silence reigns for a while, then Tullus says, "Just wish it was fucking colder."

[...]

Seto doesn't sleep the rest of the night. Tullus keeps grumbling about something or other, mostly about Baki, and it makes it impossible to sleep. He hears Nitram shuffling around in his cell more often than not, so the angel is probably awake as well.

When Baki comes around, Tullus goes into an uproar. "Hey, let me out of here, man! I have to go to work. My kid's at home, she doesn't know where I'm at."

Suddenly, Seto's door opens. Baki is standing there in the hazmat suit again. Seto scrambles to his feet, walking over. Baki doesn't seem to mind. He casts a glance around the room and notices the blanket still pulled around his shoulders. "Is it cold in here to you?"

"Uh-  _yeah_? It's freezing," Seto says, keeping his voice low just as Baki had. 

Baki checks his eyes, blinding him momentarily with a flashlight. "Good."

"Why?"

"Doesn't matter." He takes a thermometer and presses it to Seto's temple. A moment later it beeps. Seeming satisfied, Baki turns around and picks up a tray in the decontamination room. He hands it to Seto and whispers, "I shouldn't be giving you any more than this, but I'm against starving children. I'll bring another meal later tonight."

"Uh- Thanks?" Seto takes it from him, glancing over the simple meal. A can of- soup, he thinks, going by the picture on the label, then a few fruits and two bottles of water.

Baki nods and leaves, sealing the door shut behind him. Tullus' shouting grows louder. Another man's voice joins in, but it must be all the way down the hall because Seto can't make out what he's saying. He hears Nitram's door open, then a quiet conversation. 

Seto only idly pays attention, but he snaps back to himself when he hears, "-other two are infected. Be careful what you say to them if anything at all. One can't pay for the antidote, but the newest one can. I'll be making extra in case you two are sick, but I don't think you are."

"When will we be able to know for sure?"

Seto presses his ear to the wall, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. 

"Another few days, at the least. Symptoms usually show within a week, but the first signs are the eyes and seclusion. If Seto refuses to talk to you-"

"I understand."

"- tell me immediately," Baki finishes. He hesitates, then says, "I'll update you about Martin. Nothing's changed yet."

"He has priority over any of us," Nitram says, and it isn't a question. 

For a long moment, there's silence. Then, the hissing of the door opening and closing. And finally, Baki says, "Of course, Nitram."

[...]

Seto wishes the rooms were soundproof.

Down the hall, the angel screams and  _screams_ and doesn't stop. 

Tullus starts babbling, shouting, telling him to  _cut it out_ , _shut the fuck up, god just stop please_ _stop or_ _i'll_ _kill myself, stop or i'll_ _rip your throat out, stop stop stop-_

Seto sits in the corner closest to Nitram's room and covers his ears with his hands. He pulls the blanket over his head, hums to himself, does everything he can to block it out, but  _god_ the noises won't stop.

Then there are voices outside - Baki and Simon. They talk in an Above language and their voices are quiet. Tullus falls silent; the other angel continues to sob and screech.

Everything stops, all of a sudden, leaving the stillness floating in the air, thick as fog, and Seto barely dares to breathe. He  _feels_ the sudden shift in magic, a sudden absence, then a flood. 

After that, the angel doesn't scream anymore.

[...]

Tullus starts hitting the walls. Seto thinks he's using magic because there's a distinct scent of something akin to propane in the air, seeping through the walls. Another thud sends vibrations through the floor.

Quietly, he asks Nitram, who hasn't said much for the past two days, "What is he doing?"

Nitram doesn't respond.

"Nitram?" Panic starting to grow, Seto sits up from his pile of blankets, pressing his ear to the wall. "Hey, are you okay?"

Still, there's silence. Tullus cackles suddenly. Babbles something about birds.

"Hey! Nitram!" Seto hits the wall, trying to strike the spots where the padding is thinnest. That doesn't garner Nitram's attention- Is he okay?

Baki said something about seclusion being one of the first signs of deathbell. Horror sinks low into Seto's stomach and he scrambles to his feet, rushing to the outer wall. He searches around the cracks of the door, trying to find the button Baki had told him about. His fingers find it near the bottom of the door. It's white, blending in perfectly with the wall. He wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't looking.

He presses it, figuring it's just an alert system. When he doesn't hear anything, he presses it again. Again. Again.

Tullus whistles sharply, a small tune that sounds vaguely familiar.

And suddenly Baki is sliding the door open, a mask over his face. "Seto? What's-"

"Nitram won't respond."

Baki pales and quickly steps back, shutting the door behind him, despite Seto scrambling to get up. He stumbles back when the door shuts in front of his nose.

There's a tense silence for a moment. Tullus seems to be listening in. 

Seto hears the doors hiss, then a mumbled curse. Baki returns a moment later, his voice coming on over the speaker system. "He's asleep, Seto. Leave him be."

Sighing relief, Seto shuffles back to his nest of blankets, burying himself once again. His stomach growls; the meals Baki has been giving are growing smaller. Judging by how many he's had, it's maybe been five or six days. 

He glances around, shivering and huddling closer to himself. Baki never did turn the heat up, despite Seto's request. Tullus continues to complain about it getting hotter.

[...]

One day, Seto wakes up to silence. It instantly sends him on edge, making him sit up from his blankets to look towards the door. The lights are off; it must be night time. 

"Nitram?" he whispers, leaning against the wall.

A moment, then, "Tullus passed. You were asleep."

The silence seems oppressive. Seto fills it with a question. "Wh-what about that cure Baki was talking about?"

"He didn't make it in time."

Something about Nitram's tone is off. Seto pulls one of the heavy quilts over his shoulders. He tries not to ask, but after a long second, he says, "Are you okay?"

"Martin woke up."

"...Is  _he_ okay?"

A brief moment passes. Nitram eventually whispers, "He asked for me. He didn't know what was happening, where he was... And I- And I am stuck here."

"Well, he- At least he woke up, right? Which means he'll wake up again, and you'll be there then. Baki won't keep us in here for much longer, I don't think."

Nitram scoffs, or maybe it's a laugh, or maybe a sigh. Seto can't tell. "Right. I hope not."

They both fall silent for a while until Seto says, "He'll be alright Nitram."

"Yeah," Nitram murmurs. "He will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey remember that time in chapter 7 when baki mentioned something about having a deathbell case at the hospital? well he has to deal with it a lot. the cure takes a good week and a half to make, which sometimes isn't quick enough lmao


	17. i have questions burning, they go bang bang in my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a shorter chapter but eh oh well

Martin looks... better, for lack of another term.

Aza hovers at the edge of the room once they get back, watching. Seto tries to ignore him. Nitram doesn't seem to notice him being there. Then again, Nitram,  _again_ , won't leave Martin's side at all. Seto thinks that unhealthy, self-destructive behavior must run in the family. Eventually, Baki gives Nitram an ultimatum: Eat, sleep,  _take care of yourself_ , or Nitram isn't allowed in Martin's room.

And it's efficient because the next thing Nitram knows is Baki is shoving a potion down his throat, and dropping his unconscious body onto a bed in a locked room. 

Seto hunkers down in his chair in the hallway and waits for the fallout. It takes an hour for Nitram to wake up, and a minute for the door to be broken down. And then Nitram is screaming, threatening Baki, and Simon steps between the two, and-

And Aza looks up from his book, towards Martin's room. Seto follows his gaze and finds Martin  _sitting up_ -

"Guys-"

"Not now, Seto," Nitram snaps, and he looks about ready to strangle both Simon and Baki.

Seto gets up from his chair and shoves Nitram away from the two, making the angel step back a few inches, and he says, "Martin is  _awake_ , you idiot."

And it's as if nothing was happening in the first place. Nitram is rushing past the three of them in a second, the door hitting the wall from where he moved it aside. 

Simon mutters something to Baki, rubbing his temple, shaking his head. Baki pats his shoulder and goes into the room. 

Seto is right on his heels, ducking under his arm to get to the bedside. Martin is clinging to Nitram as if his life depends on it. Nitram murmurs something, curls closer. They sit like that for a moment, then Martin glances over to Baki, then to Seto. He sits up straighter - the pained face he pulls makes Seto nervous - and gestures toward him.

And,  _god_ , Martin will be okay. Seto tries, very carefully, not to hurt him, but maybe he squeezes too hard because Martin flinches. But the angel doesn't pull away, arm wrapped around Seto's shoulders. He doesn't say anything - Seto isn't sure if he can. 

Seto sits back, eventually, and opens his mouth to say something, but then Baki has his hand on his shoulder. Seto glances at him, sliding off the bed. 

"Martin," Baki says, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Martin coughs into Nitram's shoulder. 

"Maybe you will learn your lesson," Nitram mutters. He sits upright, though, letting Baki come and check over Martin. He doesn't leave the bed. He talks quietly with Martin in eastern. Baki pretends not to notice.

"Seto? May I speak with you for a moment?"

Seto whirls around to find Aza right  _there_ , right behind him. He scowls at the man and starts to argue, but Aza is already dragging him out of the room. Seto casts a glance back -

Then they step out into the hall. Aza turns around to face him. For a long moment, they're both quiet. Simon passes by, not even giving either of them a glance. Aza waits for him to go in, then he shuts the door and says, "You are to ask Nitram to take you home tonight."

"What? No! I- Martin just woke up, and... Why should I even listen to you-"

Aza moves swiftly - too quick for Seto to even realize what's happening - and he slams him against the wall. Seto blinks stars out of his vision, head aching where it hit the brick. "Hey! Get off of-"

A hand is pressed against his mouth and nose, effectively cutting off any way of breathing in and screaming for help. "I  _said_ , you will ask Nitram to bring you home. _Tonight_. I can't have either of you getting in the way."

Seto moves to kick his leg out, but it feels like he's trapped in tar. Struggling to breathe through Aza's hand, he shakes his head, hoping to dislodge him.

"No, you  _listen_ to me, Seto." Aza's hand goes down to his neck, holding just below his chin. He doesn't squeeze, but Seto doesn't dare move. His throat had just recently started to heal; he doesn't feel like making anything worse.

"When I let you go, you will go say _goodbye_ to Martin, and ask Nitram to take you home. If you don't, I  _will_ kill you, do you understand?"

"I- I-"

"Do you.  _Understand_?" Aza squeezes and Seto chokes, reaching up despite the tar holding his hands down, grabbing onto his arm. But then his airway is fully blocked, spots swimming in his eyes, his head pounding, and he nods. 

"Good."

And like that, Aza steps back, letting Seto collapse to the ground. "I won't hesitate, Seto. Go."

Dragging in lungfuls of air, coughing, Seto scrambles to his feet, hurrying into the room. The angels all look over at him and he stumbles to a halt, glancing over his shoulder to find Aza leaning in the doorway. "I- Can I talk to you two?" Seto asks, coughing, voice hoarse, looking back at Martin and Nitram.

Baki lets out a long-suffering sigh and pulls Simon out of the room, shutting the door behind him. And, on second thought, Seto rushes over and locks it. 

"Seto?"

"Aza threatened to kill me." He turns, expecting for Nitram to- Okay, no, Nitram looks confused. Martin even more so.

"Who is Aza?" Nitram asks, and Seto's stomach sinks.

"The- the human? He came along with Tallah. He- He just, like, almost strangled me."

Martin tries to sit up but Nitram quickly puts his hand on his shoulder. "Wait, who-? Who's Aza?"

"I did not know there was another human here," Nitram says slowly, and for one second, Seto doubts himself. He's not making it up, he  _knows_ he isn't- But- But Aza  _has_ to be real. It's not like Seto could make this up on his own.

"He's- He's probably right outside," Seto replies, feeling meek. Martin drops one of his legs over the side of the bed, then hisses in pain and grabs his side, hunching over. "Nitram, I swear to god if someone is here and-"

"I will deal with it. You cannot get up yet." Nitram pushes Martin back down. "Simon and Baki are here as well, we will take care of this."

Martin mutters something under his breath, but a sheen of sweat has already built on his face, and his arm trembles when he puts weight on it to lay back down. "Right, fine. Okay."

"Seto, stay here," Nitram says, pushing the call button on the bed's functions panel. He swiftly goes towards the door and opens it, then hesitates, glancing around. Seto, despite what he was told, quietly walks up behind him. He peers out, finding Aza sitting in a chair a little way down the hall, reading through a new book. Nitram makes a noise of confusion and Aza's head snaps up.

A beat passes. Two, three, then Nitram seems to realize where Seto is looking and turns to Aza. Seto sees him pale, and then suddenly Nitram snaps, "How did you get in here?"

Aza stands up quickly, snapping the book shut and stuffing it up his shirt. "Fuck," he mutters, freezing when Baki and Simon come hurrying around the corner.

"I got your call, Nitram, is Martin alright?" They both breeze  _right by_  Aza. Seto's skin crawls. Whatever is happening, he doesn't like it. Something is very, very wrong, and it makes him want to run out of some sort of instinctual terror.

"Do you not- That man, he can't be here any longer."

"What are you talking about?" Baki asks, turning, and then his eyes land on Aza. Baki shifts back, sliding somewhat behind Simon, reaching for his side. Seto never really noticed if Baki carried a weapon or not, but he must. 

"Who are you? How did you get in this place? It's under quarantine, humans aren't allowed." 

Aza looks panicked, but his hands are doing something weird, fingers twitching in some sort of pattern. And, suddenly, smoke plumes outward, obscuring the hallway. Nitram lunges forward, electricity crackling from his arms. Simon hesitates but follows.

For a moment, the only noises are their footsteps, a curse, and then absolute silence. The smoke dissipates suddenly, leaving Nitram and Simon at the end of the hall, searching the rooms to either side. Seto hurries over to them, glancing out the window. But it's closed, locked, and there would be no way for Aza to get out of it in that short of time.

"Okay, okay," Simon mutters, "What the  _actual_ fuck? Has he been here the whole time? Baki, I thought you said nobody could get in here."

"They can't! It's- The doors are locked with spells, I've made  _sure_ nobody can get in here." Baki hurries to open the door next to him, glancing over the room. "He- There's no way to get out of the hospital."

"Seto, you said he came here with Tallah?"

Seto nods, glancing over at Nitram. "Yeah, I... He was there when Martin challenged Nathaniel, too. Showed up again at the duel, and he's kinda just- been here?"

"You didn't think to tell anybody?" Simon snaps as he goes across the hall to search through that room.

"Well, I- I didn't know anything was  _wrong_ , I thought he was just kind of weird."

"He is a magic-wielder," Nitram says, coming out of the room he'd been searching. "I've- never seen that form of magic before, but it was him. There was no smoke bomb or anything. No smell."

"That doesn't make sense, though, fire magic stinks, even if it's just smoke," Simon calls from the room. Cabinet drawers slam, then it sounds like something metal is being kicked. Baki barks something in a different language. 

Distantly, from his room, Martin shouts asking what's going on. Nitram shakes his head and goes back to his brother. Simon eventually gives up the search, as well as Baki. "Maybe there was a window I didn't lock," Baki mutters, "I'll go check them. Humans shouldn't be able to get in, you have to use magic, but considering that display..."

"If I see him again, I'm fucking smashing his head in. He shouldn't have been here in the first place- I don't get how he could have been here the whole time without us noticing him." The disbelief in Simon's tone is obviously directed toward Seto. The angel glances over his shoulder at him, turning away quickly when he notices Seto's look.

Feeling somewhat sick to his stomach, Seto hurries back into Martin's room. He doesn't feel like being left alone, especially not with Aza's threat still hanging in his head. Because Aza got out of the hospital. Which means he can still get back _in_.

"I just can't have  _one_ day," Martin is muttering when Seto enters the room. He glances over but doesn't sit up. He looks tired. "They didn't find him, did they?"

"It does not matter now," Nitram says, "You need to go back to sleep."

"Kind of what I've  _been_ doing," Martin grumbles, but his eyes close. After a long moment, they open again. Seto quietly sits down in his seat, eyes locked on the window.

He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep. He's not sure if any of them will.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title taken from 'bang bang' by sara schiralli


	18. drop the game, it's not enough

"No, I am not leaving," Nitram hisses, arms crossed. "You just woke up, and-"

"Nobody else knows what to look for, Nitram," Martin cuts in, "Baki can't leave, Simon won't know what to grab, and Seto can't fly unless you go grab my stuff."

Nitram scowls at him and glances over at Seto. He shrinks down under the glare, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He feels his tail, which has definitely grown out even more, give a small twitch. He shifts in his seat, trying to get it into a more comfortable position.

He really shouldn't have asked, but he'd been curious. Just-  _curious_. With Martin awake and getting better by the hour it seems, he'd been wondering if those wingports had been finished. And if Baki would even be willing...

"Come on, Nitram, he will soon if you go grab the wingports. They're almost finished, I just need to tweak them a bit more, and-"

"And you shouldn't be straining yourself using your magic."

"What else am I going to do while I'm sitting here?" Martin throws his hands up. "And it isn't my magic that's injured."

"But using it will not help anything. How is he going to heal, anyway? Baki certainly won't want to expend too much of his magic, in case something happens." Nitram doesn't seem to want to budge. Seto has a feeling Martin might lose this argument.

"You can do it."

At this, Nitram growls, paces, arms crossed over his chest. He raises a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. He stops and, for a long moment, doesn't say anything. Finally, he sighs and turns. "Fine. Make a list, I'll leave in an hour."

Seto blinks, glancing between the two of them. A worm of excitement makes its way to his heart and he has the urge to bounce. He- He really didn't think that asking about the wingports would get him anywhere, but it  _did_. Holy shit, he might be able to fly soon-

"But  _you_ , are going to be the one to ask Baki," Nitram mutters as Martin scribbles down a list. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I was going to anyway." Martin offers the scrap piece of paper out and Nitram snatches it from his hand. "And bring some food or something. Baki really isn't a good cook."

"Whatever," Nitram mutters, casting a glance over the list. He sighs and mutters something about might needing the tagalong as he swiftly exits the room.

"So, like, what goes into this surgery?" Seto asks after a moment. Martin glances over at him, then shrugs.

"We'll try to heal you before you even wake up, so it shouldn't be too much physical strain. Might be a bit sore, and you'll be weaker in your arms for a while. But from those x-rays Baki did a while ago, you should be able to handle it."

"Um, yeah." Seto scratches the back of his neck. His tail gives another nervous wag and he grunts, shifting.

Martin glances over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Tail growing in?"

"It's highly uncomfortable," Seto admits sheepishly, leaning back into the chair awkwardly to avoid sitting on it. "Like, where does it usually... go?"

"Normally, it isn't kept under clothes." Martin glances down at his hands, tapping lightly on the IV. He says, "Once it's fully grown, it's easier to avoid."

"These are growing in, too," Seto says, reaching up to feel over his scalp. His fingers bump into his right horn and he traces the growth. It's already a couple inches long, growing curved back. "Do they all look the same? Yours curved back, too, right?"

"Ram-like horns are only really in the r-" Martin cuts himself off, blinks, then shakes his head. "No, they're all different. Depends on your family line."

"Well... Mom never mentioned any other family," Seto mutters, slouching. "I still need to go through some things I brought from the house- Do you think Nitram left yet?"

"You can try to go find him." Martin waves a hand and Seto jumps up, already on the way out. 

Thankfully, Nitram is still at the door, talking with Simon. They both glance over when he runs over. Simon sighs, excusing himself from the conversation. Seto doesn't care. 

"Would you grab some of the stuff I got from the Ground? It's in my room, probably under my bed. And grab the bracelet, and my amulet, and-"

Nitram holds up a hand. "Just make a list, Seto."

"The jewelry is on the counter, just grab my backpack from next to the bed. That's all."

"Right, right. I have to be going if I want to get back at a reasonable time. Tell Martin not to get up or do anything, would you?"

Seto will, but he doesn't think Martin will listen. So he shrugs. Nitram seems to get it.

[...]

Martin does, actually, try to get up. Seto opens his mouth to retort, but Martin just holds a hand up, sighing and slumping back onto the bed. The pinched, pained look on his face is out of place. Seto shifts uncomfortably. 

"Nitram told you not to try that."

"Nitram isn't here."

Seto rolls his eyes. Scratches below one of the horns. They're hard to ignore. A few days have passed since getting out of solitary, and he hasn't really been sleeping well. They keep getting caught on the pillow. He'll probably have to shave them down when they get back home. He's partly looking forward to having his head back to normal, and partly dreading it. 

For a while, they sit in silence. The clacking of the heart monitor continues on, before Seto interrupts it with, "When you challenged Nathaniel... That was Junys with him, right?"

Martin looks over and nods. Seto thinks the angel figures where this is going. "He... He looks like Adam."

"Adam looks like him." It's really all the confirmation Seto needs. Sure, they can't be for sure, but the similarities between the two are astounding, and the silver eyes and hair Junys has...

"If I see him again, should I tell him?"

Martin sighs and shifts so that he's facing a bit more towards Seto. He takes a moment to think, then says, "Would you rather him find out on his own?"

"... No. He- He doesn't really want anything to do with his dad, and I don't blame him. I don't either. But- I think he at least deserves to know who it is."

Martin doesn't say anything to that.

[...]

Martin falls asleep a few hours later, followed quickly by Seto. He's in an uncomfortable half-asleep daze, though. Somewhat dreaming, everything _real_ blurring, fuzzy images replacing crisp machines and too-bright lights. It changes an hour or so later, the room plunging into darkness. He moves, lifting his head, face scrunching at the horrible taste in his mouth. He makes out Baki moving around in the dark, folding the blinds closed, gathering whatever trash was left over from dinner and checking Martin's IV one last time before he exits the room. 

It's dark, he thinks, when he moves to rest his upper body near the foot of the bed - darker than it was. A machine turned off? No, it's just dark outside. There used to be a light, maybe. His eyes crack open and he sees Martin illuminated by the machines, but then he shuts his eyes and falls back into the restless doze.

He keeps rising and falling to and from awareness. It's uncomfortable, and he really should go back to his own room. Or at least pull two chairs together so he could lay down. That's what he has been doing, unable to force himself to sleep alone after Aza's threat. Neither of the twins has really said anything about it, so he thinks they understand...

He thinks...

He thinks he wants to fly. Swooping across his old island, dipping under the trees around his house, curving around the cliff faces, so close to the rock he should be able to reach out and touch it. He folds his wings, kicks off the cliff, and spears outward. A moment, gravity takes a hold of him, and he snaps his wings out. It feels as if he's in tar, though, slowing down, unable to keep the height he was at. Someone down below calls his name, calls his name, calls his... 

(He hears something shifting around in the room, but in his drifting state, he thinks nothing of it.)

He's leaping from an island, and he tries to spread his wings, but suddenly the wind stops, and he falls, and falls, and the ocean is rushing up to meet him, roaring and furious, churning and boiling, stewing in its anger. He flips, grasps for the clouds, his wings are gone, they never were, he never had them-

A noise wakes him. His eyes snap open. The first thing he sees is Martin, still sleeping peacefully.

The second is the angel looming over the bed.

Seto scrambles out of his seat with a scream, jolting Martin awake. The angel above him lunges, tackling Martin. They roll onto the ground, hitting with a heavy thud. Seto scrambles back, staring with wide eyes. Machines start going off and someone out in the hall starts banging on the door. 

Seto scrambles over to open it. The doorknob twists, but it's as if the door itself is glued shut. He reaches for the lights, flipping them on. The sharp sounds of the struggle behind him suddenly stop, and silence reigns.

Then, the assassin whispers, "Lazarus?"

Seto whips around to find Martin pinned to the ground, the angel sitting atop him. A blade is held to Martin's throat, drawing a thin line of blue. Martin grips the angel's wrist, eyes looking up, wide,  _terrified._ It's vaguely reminiscent of the expression Nitram wore after the sigil on Nathaniel was activated.

The angel suddenly scrambles back, bent at the waist as if bowing. "You- You're  _alive_? Is your brother- Oh my god, you're alive."

The angel swivels his head toward Seto and  _that_ is when the horns on his head show. They stick out from just above his ears, curling around the back of his head. His tail whips and smacks into a machine pole, sending the thing sliding.

"Zach," Martin croaks, trying to get up, "Why- You-"

"You're alive!" the angel, Zach, screams. He glances between Seto and Martin. "Lazarus, we thought- You- The island, and Kaizen-"

Martin trembles, falls back to the ground, but on the second try slowly starts to clamber to his feet. He uses the chair, tipped over from the struggle, for support. "Zach, listen," he says carefully, trying to keep the pain from his voice, "I can explain-"

The door suddenly bursts down. Zach moves before Seto can realize what's happening. Then, just as Baki is coming in - Nitram behind him - a knife is pressed to his throat, and Zach is pinning his arms to his own chest.

Back pressed to the angel's chest, Seto can  _hear_ his thundering pulse and quick, panicked breaths. He doesn't dare move. Silently pleads for Martin to do something.

Zach's breath hitches suddenly. "Kaizen? You're  _both_ alive?" he whispers, horrified.

"Let him go," Martin hisses, dragging himself a few steps closer. Zach stiffens and Seto struggles to remain still when the flat of the blade presses against his neck, the edge just under his chin. Martin's expression turns deadly. "Zacheriath, let him  _go_."

"He-" Zach moves, glancing down at Seto. "Oh god, is he yours?"

"Zach," Nitram's voice is dangerous, cold, "Let him go right now."

A long moment passes. Baki slides behind Nitram to attend to Martin, helping him back onto the bed. 

"I- Let me walk out," Zach says, voice trembling. "Let me walk out and I won't harm him."

"That's not good enough, Zach." Nitram looks  _murderous_. The hairs on the back of Seto's neck rise as the air begins to charge with magic. "You will release him, this moment."

"Let me walk," Zach says, and pain stings across Seto's throat. He bites back a whimper, trying to pull away. The knife presses sharper and he finally struggles, getting one arm loose to try and pry the knife from his throat. Zach's hand doesn't budge.

"Okay," Martin says quickly, "Okay, okay, just- Nitram, let him go."

"But- Martin-" Nitram glances back at Martin, then to Zach. His eyes drift to Seto and they look torn. "If he gets away-"

"Let him walk." Martin sounds flighty, panicked. He reaches out a hand, shaking. Almost as if trying to plead with Zach, or Nitram, or both.

And suddenly, Seto is being pulled backward. Zach glances behind him, taking slow steps toward the door. Nitram follows, pacing, like some wild animal preparing to strike. Simon is out in the lobby, but upon Nitram's raised hand, doesn't move to attack.

The harsh wind blows across them suddenly as the automatic doors slide open. Seto trembles, stumbling, hissing when the knife slides against his throat. Blood is starting to run down his throat in small rivulets, staining the neckline of his shirt.

Nitram follows them outside, wings mantled. "Here, Zach. Let him go here."

"No," Zach says, still walking backward. "Not yet."

Seto knows the island isn't too big. He's seen it from the air before. And as the wind gets harsher, snapping at them, he realizes with a sinking feeling that they might go toppling right off the edge.

Suddenly, Zach stops walking. Seto hears his breath hiss through his nose, and then he inhales sharply. He whispers, "I'm sorry, fledgling."

The next thing Seto knows, Zach grabs him by the wrist and flings him off the island. A scream is ripped from his throat as he tumbles, flailing in the air. He hits clouds and goes spinning, and suddenly he's roaring past an island. There are a few concerned shouts. An angel's wing glints under the moonlight.

Hands grab him by the shoulders and they swoop out of the fall, barely dodging a clump of rocks floating through the air. Seto bites back his panicked wails, dragging in heavy breaths as he clings to Nitram's neck. They're back on the island a few minutes later, Nitram nearly tossing him toward Baki. Seto doesn't think he even lands before he turns around and races after where Zach must have gone.

"Inside, inside," Baki ushers, pushing Seto along by his shoulder blades. 

Seto glances back, but both Nitram and Zach are long gone.

Inside is warm and dry, a stark relief to the frigid air trying to freeze his clothes to his skin. He stands shivering in the lobby for a second before Baki comes back with a blanket. "Clouds aren't fun when it's cold, huh?"

Seto grips the sheet around his shoulders, mechanically going for Martin's room. Baki follows, but steps around him once they're back inside. 

Martin doesn't say anything as Baki checks him over, eyes glowing brighter as he heals torn wounds. A moment later, he seems to decide to take it a step further, smoothing out some of the lesser injuries. 

Seto sits down in his chair, shivering, staring wide-eyed at Martin. After a long moment, he says, "Who was-"

"Zacheriath," Martin mutters. "We grew up with him."

Baki hesitates, hands pausing in their gentle roaming, but he shakes his head and continues to try and heal as much as he can. Sweat is starting to bead on his forehead. He's rushing the healing process; he hasn't really done many healing sessions such as he's doing now.

"And the names? Lazarus, Kaizen?"

Martin flinches, shakes his head. He looks somewhat sickly. Raises an arm for Baki to start restitching a gash close. "Later, Seto. Not now."

"Okay." Seto shrinks back into his seat, staring down at his feet. The three of them are quiet for a long time until Baki sits back with a shaky breath. He excuses himself, leaning heavily against the wall on his way out. 

Martin stares toward the window, eyes trained on the curtains still flowing from the breeze. The window was left open. Seto tries not to think about how close Martin had been to-

He shivers, pulls the blanket closer, curling his legs up on the chair. He's exhausted, emotionally drained, but he doesn't think he could sleep. 

Seto begins to think that the Above is never safe.

[...]

It's many hours later when Nitram gets back. Martin hasn't moved from where he's hunched over himself, staring out the window. Seto kept himself busy watching the machines.

When Nitram walks in, he stops at the sight of Seto. The look on his face is all Martin needs to see, no words exchanged. After a long moment where Seto makes sure not to look at either of them, less he intrude on their silent conversation, Martin quietly says, "Would you two- I- I would like to be alone for a moment."

Something in his voice makes Seto look up, but Martin is turned away, face carefully out of sight. Seto gets up from the chair, legs protesting after being in the same position for so long. Nitram closes the door behind him.

They both don't seem to want to leave, though. After Nitram makes no move to go to his own room, Seto glances up at him and asks, "What's going to happen?"

Nitram glances at him and his red eyes are  _dull_ , and tired, and worried. His brow pinches together for a moment and he takes in a shaking breath - hell, both the brothers are cracking at the seams - but then he looks away. "It takes two months to get to the east, and maybe another two for Muran to plan a trip here. No doubt it will be him to come and... We have little under half a year to decide." 

He reaches up suddenly, rubbing his eyes with his thumb, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stays like that for some time before he takes another slow, controlled breath, and says, "I am... sorry, that we have dragged you into this, Seto."

Seto wants to say that it's alright, that there was no other option. But he thinks about Martin's quiet, breaking voice, the terror in his eyes when Zach was in the room, and now Nitram's barely-concealed mental breakdown. He closes his mouth. 

Finally, Nitram sets his hand on Seto's shoulder. Still doesn't look at him. "Try to sleep tonight, Seto. The three of us will talk in the morning."

Seto watches him leave but remains where he's standing. After a long moment, he glances down at his feet, takes a deep breath, and heads to his own room.


	19. i'm the escape to something that's worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am the shadow driving the hearse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so, here's where pov-switching starts. sorry bout that.
> 
> (title taken from 'the hearse' by matt maeson)

The metal is smooth under his fingertips. He turns the wingport around, dipping into the grooves and lines of the inside joint. Clean, pristine, and one of the most perfect things he's ever made.

Martin opens his eyes, squinting at the light of the lamp he turned on a few hours ago. Feeling for the magic, he checks on the currents circulating through the port and reaches sideways for a small screwdriver. 

The outer shell parts easily for him. He pulls out screws, presses the sigils in the correct order, and it falls apart in his hands. He pauses, gently putting the tendril-part aside, on a clean cloth laid out on the tray in front of him. He sets down the inside wiring, and other pieces, but keeps the shell.

For a moment, he pauses, glances over at the window — ( _Damn_ Zacheriath for ruining everything.)  — and checks just once more for the locking sigils. Baki had apologized, quietly, furiously at himself, how he had been so forgetful. The window hadn't been locked - he had forgotten, when the deathbell cases had come in. Had simply just... forgotten.

Martin doesn't fault him in it, not really, but some selfish, angry part of him remains pissed at the doctor.  _(How could he **forget**?)_

Taking an even breath, clearing his head of recent events, he glances back down at the shell. The sigils carved on the inside are tiny and, under the low light, he can't fully make them out. It doesn't matter. He's more or less memorized them. 

The clacking of the monitor interrupts his focus for a moment and, with a grunt, he reaches over and snags magic around the cord, yanking it from the wall. Baki will probably have his head in the morning, but Martin will be fine. He's strong and-

 _Fuck_ , how did he survive?  _Fuck_ , how is he  _going_ to survive?

_("You're alive?")_

Damn Zach.  _Damn_ him, for coming and fucking everything up, just when Martin thought he'd finally- He'd finally...

"God damn it," he mutters, gently setting the outer shell down. He takes a moment to calm himself, hand curling into a fist where it's sat on the tray. He can't concentrate, and on something this particular, this fine, he can't  _afford_ to have his attention drifting away. So help him, if these don't work for Seto-

Martin pulls his hand up, elbow resting on the plastic rail of the bed. He raps his knuckles once against his lips, eyes gravitating over to the window. It's locked; he checks again. Yanks at the magic. The glass rattles. Doesn't budge.

Seto needs to be flying. Martin shouldn't have  _waited_ , should have made these so much sooner, should have forced Baki to do the surgery. Should have, would have... Hindsight is a bitch, really, and he's so  _sick_ of things not going his way.

_(Nathaniel had sneered at him, in those final moments, right before they were both so sure Martin would die. "It's mine now, wingsmith, and I won't show mercy this time.")_

Martin isn't sure how he's not dead. For some reason, his hands shake as he puts the wingport back together. Thinking of that fight, the- the  _terror_ , god damn it, he-

His breath returns to him shakily and he quietly wraps the wingport up. He can't talk to anyone about this- this- Panic. Nitram might already know — Martin thinks he already knows — but Martin won't swallow his pride long enough to talk about it, talk through it, get  _help_.

It had been terrifying. Halfway through, it was obvious Martin didn't  _have_ the time he needed. He couldn't get a good grip on the magic in Nathaniel's wings, and he'd nearly died because of it. Almost had.

But he'd looked up, inches from blacking out, and Seto had been  _there_ , held in the air by the throat, and god damn it Martin couldn't just let Nathaniel get  _away_ with that. The poor kid has already suffered enough, and-

Martin grits his teeth, reaches quickly for a piece of scrap metal, and digs his palm into it. The pain barely registers; a pinprick amongst the rest of his body. But it works, momentarily, sharpening his mind, dragging him from those thoughts.

He needs some form of distraction. The ports are obviously out of the question; he doesn't dare mess with them when in such a mental state. 

After a long moment of thinking, Martin carefully pushes aside the multiple trays he'd pulled over with magic. First, he peels the stickers away from his torso, flinching at the alarms on the machines. A quick pull with magic unplugs most of them. He takes a nearby towel and folds it several times. Setting it over the IV on his hand and awkwardly holding it in place with his chin, he takes a deep breath and pulls the needle out. Holding it down with his left hand, he sits up, pulls the blankets from his legs, and puts them over the side of the bed. 

He has to hand it to Baki - the angel is good at what he does. That impromptu healing session helped. 

Taking another deep breath, Martin slowly slides off the bed, hissing at the sharp stinging of pain racing up and down his torso. He grips at the center wound — where the sword had speared through — and slowly puts his weight on his feet.

Pain flashes in his vision, blotting everything out with white. He stumbles forward, catches himself on a tray, knocking something else down.

The light suddenly flicks on and he mutters a curse, glancing over at the door. Surprisingly, Seto stands there, worry written clearly on his face. "Martin, what are you doing?"

"I-" He isn't sure. "I'm trying to take a shower." 

"Oh. Couldn't you have, like, asked Baki?" Damn this kid and his questions. Martin sighs, arm quaking where he's leaning on the bed with it. He takes a hobbling step forward, bare feet sliding against the cold tile. The hospital pants he has on are too thin, and he hadn't wanted a shirt after the healing session.

"Just- help me there, would you?" He's not sure how much help the shrimp would be, but it can't hurt to ask. Seto quickly pads over, feet quiet on the floor, and drops his blanket across the bed. He gets under Martin's arm- Christ, the kid has  _grown_ since Martin last stood next to him. He's probably somewhere over six foot already. 

But he shoves the thought to the back of his head and takes another testing step forward. Seto's grip tightens slightly on his arm; on the next step, Martin steps  _wrong_ , and suddenly has to lean more on the kid. Seto makes some noise of complaint, but Martin is too busy trying to blink the spots out of his eyes. 

Slowly, so  _horribly_ slowly, they make it to the bathroom. Martin sits down on the bench in the shower and tries to catch his breath, holding his arm across his chest. Seto is staring at him with wide eyes.

"Has it always been that bad?" he asks, quietly. Martin glances down sharply, distinctly remembering Baki mentioning something about waiting to put new bandages on so the magic could settle. Had to make sure it stayed in him, not the gauze. 

"Worse," Martin says. It's obviously the wrong thing to say because Seto grows a bit pale and shaky. "But I'm fine."

"It just took us like fifteen minutes to walk ten feet to the bathroom," Seto points out, worrying the hem of his shirt. Martin has half a mind to tell him to stop — Nitram  _always_ complains about it because the kid winds up stretching the stitching out  — but he holds his tongue. Now isn't the time.

"Yeah, well, I  _will_ be fine." It's kind of awkward to sit here in the shower talking with a fledgling. "Scram, kid, and toss some new clothes in here when you do."

"Yeah, yeah. Will you need help back?"

Probably. Martin takes a moment to think, though, because he doesn't even know how he's going to get dressed, much less  _undressed_. He won't ask Seto, that's a solid no on both sides.  _Christ_. Eventually, he says, "Go back to bed. I'll figure something out."

"Uh..." But before Seto can protest, Martin reaches up and grabs the curtain, closing it quickly. "Pants, Seto. Worry about the now."

Seto mutters something under his breath that sounds too sarcastic for Martin to care about. But there's a bit of shuffling around, and then Seto tells him the towels and clothes are on the sink counter. A few seconds later and the door closes. Martin holds his breath and listens, but the bedroom door doesn't open or close. The kid is waiting.

He might be waiting a while. Martin can only stand sponge baths and wipe-downs for so long. He feels  _filthy_ , like his skin is coated in a layer of grime from wasting away in the bed.

The water hits him square in the head when he turns it on and he flinches and then groans when that jostles  _everything_. After a long moment, he slowly wriggles out of the pants, dropping them outside the shower. 

Once the water is warm he just- sits there. Keeps his eyes closed, because he  _knows_ there's a mirror to his right on the wall. Why, he isn't sure. Shitty design. He doesn't want to see himself like this.

So he keeps his eyes shut, and concentrates on the water running down his face in streams. Over his brow, around the inner edges of his eyes, down his cheek, over his lips.

_The tree bark is sharp against his back, pressing his wingports forward, but the spines through his body, pinning his flesh to the tree, hurts so much worse. Agony. Burning. He can't bite back the scream, but he does bite the next one back when another spike spears into his stomach. He jerks forward on the impact, gagging, gasping, and wrenches the first spine free. One has his wing - the magic screams, it's through the webbing and a feather. No wires were snapped._

_Still holding strong to the feeling of the magic, Martin flings a hand out, pulling the remaining spines out. It has no finesse to it, it tears at his insides, oh god it hurts, oh god it-_

_He drops. Barely raises his wings in time to block-_

Martin hisses through his teeth and reaches for the soap, quickly scrubbing his hair. Flicking his eyes open once so they burn from the suds. He can't stop  _thinking_ about it, god damn it.

Nothing ever works out for him. He won, but then  _Zach_ -

Everything will topple down in front of his eyes, and Martin feels like he can't even  _do_ anything about it. He's struggled, ever since the incident, ever since he and Nitram fled, he's struggled and  _clawed_ and thrashed like a rabid animal, just to survive. He's stooped to lying and thieving and he's  _aligned_ himself with the west, with these terrible, violent people, with these slavers and monsters and-

He sucks in a breath. His eyes sting; the soap has already been rinsed out, but he tells himself it hasn't. He wrenches his eyes open and glances over to his reflection. Even with the dim light, he can still count each sharp shadow from his ribs, can see the frailty of his arms. He can make a fist around his wrist. The injuries are dark scars, partly healed. He raises his hand up to feel at the center of his chest, gently prodding at the hole where he'd been- skewered. 

_Distantly, Martin hears his brother scream. Something in his soul wrenches at that, and he's just- There is no pain, no sight, he's just blind and deaf, and he knows he's staring upward but he still can't see the sky-_

_The bell is tolling. He lost. He lost, and now Seto, and now Nitram-_

Martin grabs for his arms, digging his fingers into the area around an injury, hissing from the pain. He has worked so  _hard_ for this life. He beat Nathaniel. He  _killed_ him, and everything should be  _fine_. Martin is in a position of power, an untouchable spot, and he ensured safety for his family, for his secrets, for his  _life_ , yet...

Yet he has so little time to be safe.

Some part of him whispers that this is what he deserves. The guilty part, the one who keeps reminding him of Micah, of all the other people in that island, of all the pain and gut-wrenching  _terror_ when he watched the island explode. When he grabbed Nitram from the air so they could take cover, so they wouldn't get caught in the blast. That part of him says that he's outrun his karma for too long, says that it would have come around to get him eventually.

But god damn it, why does  _Seto_ have to be dragged into this? Why did Martin have to crash  _there_ , why did he- why...

He reaches for the body wash and tells himself everything will be fine. It will be fine because he'll  _make_ it that way. He's fought this far, he can keep going for a little bit longer. He's really not sure  _how_ much longer he can last. He's so... He's so  _tired_. He's so tired, and everything that can go wrong for him eventually does.

After a while, all the soap is gone, and the water grows cold. He sighs and turns the shower off, pulling the curtain back. He hesitates; how in the world is he going to get dressed?

God. 

He reaches for the towel — thank god Seto is smart enough to put them close enough for Martin to reach — and starts drying off. He supposes he doesn't really care if his clothes get wet, but it would be uncomfortable. He doesn't feel like sleeping in a puddle for the rest of the night. 

Once he's sure that most of his body is dry, he pulls the towel under his ass so he's sitting on it. Martin takes a moment to wallow in the embarrassment — fuck, nobody's even around — then he grabs for the clothes.

Getting dressed is arguably one of the most difficult things he's done in the past few days, and by the time he's clothed, he's shaking and trying not to keel over.

There's a knock on the door and he curses, falling silent when Seto asks if he needs help.

"I- No, Seto, I'm- I'm good." Martin glances around, grabbing onto the rail at the wall, sticking his feet out onto the rug on the bathroom floor. Slowly _(God okay no that hurts)_ he gets to his feet. Takes one step forward and ends up toppling onto the sink counter. Seto must have heard the commotion, because he's opening the door a moment later, moving to help Martin up. 

"Thank god you're dressed," the kid says, laughing slightly. Martin offers him a huff; he can't say much else through the constricting of his chest. 

Soon, they're back to the bed, and Martin all but collapses into it. One leg is splayed off the side, but he can't bring himself to care. 

"Shouldn't those IVs and stuff go back on?" Seto asks and Martin raises his head, then glances over at the machines.

"Fuck it," he grunts dropping his head back down. "Baki can yell at me later about it. Go to bed, Seto."

Seto doesn't leave, but he does move around. After a few minutes of silence, Martin turns to look at him, only to find the kid curled up in his chair. God, he's just as bad as Nitram is. "What?"

"Are people coming after us?"

Martin hesitates, then sighs and struggles into a sitting position. He scoots backward on the bed, biting back winces, and leans against the pillows. Takes a moment to pull the blanket up with a tug of magic. The lights flick off after a moment, casting the room into cool darkness. The light from the moon outside is enough. Eventually, once he's done fiddling around, he glances over at the kid. 

Seto has his chin resting on his knees, arms around his shins. In the darkness, the pinpricks of his pupils look  _terrifying_. Martin doesn't think he needs to tell the kid that white eyes aren't-  _normal_. He doesn't think he ever will.

Martin says, "Probably."

Seto's face falls, but Martin waves a hand. "We have plenty of time to figure out a plan. A while."

"Yeah." It seems to bring little comfort to him. After a long moment, he gets up and says, "Give me a second, I want to show you something."

"Sure, kid." Martin leans back, letting his head fall onto the pillows with a groan. The hospital shirt is scratchy, catching on scars and stitches. He has half a mind to take it off. Baki will probably kill him once he realizes that Martin had to rip open the back just to get it  _on_. Then again, Baki will probably kill him anyway, what with the machines being all sorts of fucked now.

Seto returns a few moments later, carrying his backpack from the Ground. Okay, so not what Martin had expected. He sits up straighter and takes the large album Seto hands to him.

"I found that in Mom's room. Just... look."

"Are you sure?" He doesn't  _really_ want to invade the kid's privacy  — he's better than that, now, and Seto doesn't deserve that kind of shit in his already fucked-up life. Seto waves at him, though, but there seems to be some hesitancy. So he thought this over.

Martin glances down at the book — it's pretty big, with a black, plastic cover. More like a binder than a book.

Flipping to the first page, and a few suspicions he's had are immediately brought to life.

The pictures were undoubtedly taken in the east. He'd recognize the architecture anywhere. The first one shows a woman — she honestly looks vaguely familiar — holding a newborn. Martin studies the backward-curve of her horns, trying but failing to strike his memory into working. 

The other pictures on the first few pages are all of the child, a newborn  _angel_. It looks like she's got three parents - the man and one of the women being her biological ones. Martin keeps flipping through, pausing a few pages in on a family portrait. Father, mother, mother,  _eight_ siblings, not including the baby, a good ten cousins, and two pairs of aunts and uncles.

Damn.

"Let me guess," Martin says eventually after he's flipped through half of the book, watched this baby grow up. "Your mother?"

Seto doesn't look at him. He's sitting how he was, knees pressed close. He nods once. "She lied to me. And to... Jordan."

Martin bites his tongue at that. He should probably let the kid sort through his own emotions. He goes through the book, and- Holy  _shit_.

Seto jerks upward suddenly, so he must have said that aloud. Martin brings the book closer, but there's no- There's no denying it. There, at the woman's — Graduation, it looks like — there's  _Muran_.

"That's my brother," Martin says, and the words sound hollow to him. He flips through the pages faster, finding that more time passes between each picture until suddenly there's one last picture, a tearful goodbye, and- And Martin knows  _exactly_ what Seto's mom was over in the west for.

He briefly thinks back to the journal he decoded. Some of those writings didn't make sense- Some of them were too  _technical_ , too mechanical, written for informing rather than jotting down events and feelings that happened. 

Something goes cold in his stomach and he glances over at Seto, and asks, "Is there any more?"

"A few more journals, but they're coded. I can't figure them out." Seto pulls them from his pack, leaning over to hand them to Martin. 

A glance through them shows it's the same code from the other book. He recognizes the characters. There's what might be an address at the very back of the book. "It might take me some time, but I can probably translate these."

"Would you?"

"Of course, Seto." Hell, he needs  _something_ to do while he's stuck.

Seto remains quiet for a long moment, before asking, "You said your brother was in one of those pictures? Why?"

The truth might not be good for the kid's mental health. But it's really not in Martin's place to just  _not_ let him know. After a few seconds, he sighs and says, "Your mom was a spy, Seto. Trained most of her life for it. It makes so much sense..."

"How do you know?"

Martin reaches for the album and Seto walks to the side of the bed, watching when he flips to the picture of her graduation. He points at the banner in the background. "I know that school. It's mostly for noble families. My brothers used to talk about it. Spies weren't really a thing that came around until later, but that was the only school that really trained them. After this, my bet is she went on with her training, and eventually came over here."

Seto doesn't really say anything to this. He eventually goes back to his chair with the album, looking intently at the pictures. Martin opens the nearest journal, idly flipping through it. He sees a few strange symbols, which he'll have to look into later. All of a sudden, the kid asks, "Why would your brother be at her graduation?"

He freezes, brain trying to find some  _excuse_. It's natural, by now, to deflect when it comes to his family ties. It's so  _easy_ to slip into centuries-worth of habit. Martin wrestles with his mouth for a second, and eventually, slowly, replies, "Because he's the King, Seto."

Surprisingly, the kid doesn't drop the book he's holding. But he closes it, sets it to the side, on top of his bookbag. Takes a long moment to process it. Then says, "Well, that makes sense."

It wasn't really the reaction Martin had expected. He looks up from the book (because god damn it, he hadn't wanted to see the reaction) and glances over. "What do you mean?"

"... You left for a reason. Sure, you explained what happened, but..." Seto glances towards the window and Martin does as well. Martin taps his fingers along the plastic side of the bed. It's the only sound in the room. He feels like he needs to run, flee, but he can  _trust_ Seto. The kid won't go to anyone about it. And even if he wanted to,  _who_ would he go to? Simon and Baki might be the only ones to believe him, Simon more so despite Seto's heritage, and both of them are- Technically Martin is their  _employer_. There aren't really many people higher up than he is, now. 

Seto doesn't really seem to know what to say. Martin doesn't press him. But for a  _kid_ to figure out their story quickly is a cause for concern. Both he and Nitram must be slipping.

"And sometimes you guys just- correct or stop yourselves. Nitram's done it a few times." Seto shifts in the chair, trying his best to fit every piece of his body on it. 

"Right," Martin says, because he's still a little bit dumbfounded, and he needs a moment to collect himself. Seto probably gets this, because he eventually gets up and puts the album back in the bag. 

"I'm gonna go sleep," he says, "You should too, Martin. You're still not well enough to do these late nights."

Martin waves his concern off, trying to form some way of assuring Seto that he's  _fine_. He'll be  _fine_ , and maybe that doesn't just include the insomnia. But eventually, he says, "Yeah. I'll go to bed. Goodnight, kid."

"Night, Martin." Seto closes the door quietly, probably trying to make sure not to wake anyone else up. Martin has a hunch that Nitram is already awake — probably listened in. Knowing him. 

So a few minutes later, Martin reaches back and knocks on the wall. He listens, holds his breath, and a second later he hears rustling. Good old Nitram.

He only has to wait for a few minutes before Nitram quietly enters, taking his place next to Martin, opposite from where Seto sat. "You heard?"

Nitram nods, and his eyes are  _tired_. "What are we going to do?"

He isn't talking about Kerberos and any ties Seto might have to the east. Martin takes a moment before he admits, "I don't know."

Nitram barks a laugh, says, "I said the same thing to Seto."

"The kid doesn't deserve to be in this."

Nitram doesn't say it but he knows. It's in the downward slope of his eyebrows, in the way his mouth sets. He raps his fingers against the armrest. 

"Zach seemed to believe we were dead," Martin eventually says. "So-"

"So they probably think it was- a suicide bombing."

"Most likely." Martin tries not to be sick at the thought. To think he would ever harm his family on  _purpose_ -

Nitram reaches forward, covers Martin's hand with his. An unsaid  _We'll get through this / It's okay_ passes and Martin quickly breaks eye contact.

"I should have left you behind," Martin quietly admits. Nitram's hand withdraws and his brother gets up to stand by the window. "You had everything laid out for you," Martin continues, "Shurin, the throne, you had- You had everything. And- And I did too, yet I didn't  _want_ any of it and I was selfish and- I should've left you behind."

Nitram's shoulders quake for a second and Martin sees him collect himself. He sees through the calm ruse when Nitram turns to look him in the eye. "No, I wouldn't leave you."

"You damned yourself."

"I can't stand the thought of my twin dying because of his own stupidity." Nitram's lips shift, a semi-smile, a  _We're all we have._

 _I know,_ Martin says, words silent, but he looks away, breaks eye contact, and doesn't look over again until Nitram sits back down. "But that doesn't change the fact that they'll be coming after us."

"Do you think it will be Muran?"

"I don't think he'd let someone else kill me, if that's what you're asking." It is, Martin knows. Nitram bites at his knuckles; a habit that's been dying from when he was young. 

They fall quiet for a long time, then Nitram says, "You really would have had our lives set if Zach didn't show up."

"It's why I did all this." Martin gestures; Nitram's eyes follow his hand, then go back to his face. "I told you to trust me."

Nitram huffs out a sigh and pinches his eyes shut. "I was worried."

"I know."

"You nearly died."

"I- I know."  _The burning flames, erupting around him, Nathaniel shrieking down and a sharp, bright agony in the center of his chest-_ "I know."

He shakes his head, refuses to have those thoughts, and hides his trembling by shifting in the bed. Nitram notices it anyway, but he doesn't say anything. He knows Martin will talk to him if he needs to.

Martin, himself, isn't sure if he ever will. He doesn't need anyone else to get through- _this_ , whatever it is. He can do it by himself. It's not that bad, really. He knew what he was getting into when he challenged Nathaniel, and it was his  _own_ decision to fight. His own decision to forge Nitram's signature. And, well, if he has to pay that price for winning, he will. 

"How long do you think?" Martin asks.

"I told Seto about half a year."

"It'll be less than that."

"I know. But by then, we should have a plan." Nitram kicks his right ankle up over his knee, foot bouncing nervously. "Five months, though. We need to figure out what to do."

"He can't outright kill me without it being an act of war."

"Considering Zach showed up to assassinate the new General..." Nitram trails off, leaning his head on his hand. His eyes flick over to the dead screens. Martin glances over as well, catching sight of his reflection in the glass. They're both silent for a long time. Eventually, Martin quietly says, "I'm sorry, Kaizen."

Nitram visibly flinches at the name. How wrong is it, to be horrified to hear their own names, anymore? But he eventually glances over. There's that ever-lasting question in his eyes.  _Why? What made you do that?_

Martin isn't sure what Nitram even is asking for anymore. He's never given him a straight answer. And now, with time and age and memories getting muddled along with those two, Martin isn't sure if he could  _give_ him the answer he wants. So he says, "I'm so sorry."

And it will have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway martin is literally my favorite fucking character and,,, i missed writing in his pov.


	20. i was soaring ever higher

Nitram doesn't think it's going to work.

Martin hasn't made any ports in a  _long_ time. They make  _wings_ , that's their cover, that's what they know. According to everybody else. 

(Because they had to have set  _some_ limitations.)

But Seto looked so ecstatic, because, hell, he  _did_ ask Baki. And that damn doctor- He accepted, and now Nitram has to deal with a  _lot_ more problems. He can't deal with this whole General mess, while also worrying about the east soon coming to  _end_ them, while also teaching Seto the ins and outs of flying, and also the kid's  _magic_ needs to be worked on, as well as his language lessons-

But Nitram understands. He really does. Seto might- Well, that heart might not grow in time, might not catch up to his height, and he might not... Nitram shakes the thought from his head, crossing his arms. He doesn't really know what to do, and it's killing him. Martin's mentally falling apart, their whole life is about to be upended in a few months, and now-

And this man named Jeremiah will not  _quit_. Nathaniel's old advisor, he says, standing outside the hospital, a heavy-looking bag of papers over his shoulder, and a folder clutched to his chest. He fumbles with his words and he repeatedly has to push up his glasses, but Nitram isn't a fool.

"And why would we need you?" he asks, and for a second, Jeremiah falters. As if he didn't think he'd be questioned. He gives a quick bow of his head, or maybe a nod to himself, and says, stuttering, "Well- The new General may not know the workings of any- politics, you get me? So I'm just here to-"

"The hospital is still under quarantine." It's not if there was an emergency. Nitram has already heard of a few too many duels ending in death because Baki's whole place has been out of commission. But  _Seto_ is in there, in surgery no less, and Nitram isn't about to let anyone in until he at least can fly, or until Baki decides it's okay to let them in. "You aren't allowed."

"Yes, but-"

"My brother is not fit enough to speak to you." Nitram doesn't let him speak, won't even let him start to worm his way in. "Leave."

"But-" Jeremiah tries to protest, but Nitram rattles his wings, because god damn it, he's already pissed enough, and takes a step forward.

"I suggest you leave  _now_ and spare yourself the trouble of me throwing you into the ocean." Damn it, he's usually above this sort of thing. But he has a good two feet on Jeremiah, and he's the brother of the man who just killed Nathaniel. Rumors are probably already floating around. So he uncrosses his arms, mantles his wings slightly, and raises an eyebrow. The advisor - if that's really what he is - gives a short bow and quickly takes flight.

Sighing, Nitram shakes his head, watching him go, watching to make sure he won't turn around. He casts a glance over to an island floating nearby; in the far distance, partially obscured by clouds, is the arena. Nitram scowls at it and briskly walks back into the hospital, locking the doors behind him.

"That advisor again?" Simon asks from where he's at by Baki's desk, idly flipping through some sort of pamphlet.

"I don't think he knows when to give up."

"Maybe he and Martin will get along." Simon shrugs, glancing over at him for a moment before returning to it.

Nitram highly doubts it. If Jeremiah gave off strange vibes to him, Martin will  _hate_ him. It's not like them to disagree on these kinds of things. Other things, well...

"Is Seto out yet?"

"Don't think so." Simon folds the pamphlet back up and sticks it back into the slot where the others are hanging on the side of the desk. "It takes a while, y'know? Hell, and Baki hasn't really done any of those for a while."

Simon's tone makes Nitram want to  _kill_ something, but he knows he probably won't ever get the angel to change his way of thinking. He hates Seto, and that's that. There's not going to be any changing that. But still, Nitram says, "Give the kid a chance, Simon. He didn't ask for-"

"I know." Simon rolls his shoulders, his head, and stares up at the ceiling for a second, as if thinking. "But I'm not going to. Freak of nature, that."

Nitram bites his tongue to keep from lunging at the other angel, and sighs. He quickly goes back to Martin's room, deciding that conversation won't get anywhere. 

Martin's asleep when he enters. Nitram pauses, listening, then says, "It's me. You're horrible at pretending. I've told you, you snore in your sleep."

"Fuck off," Martin mutters, still not opening his eyes. Maybe it's a bad day. He's been having a lot of those lately. 

"That advisor came by again."

Martin groans and sits up, wincing. Nitram only catches it out of the corner of his eye as he grabs for a few scrap piece of metal and sits down. The magic hums in them quietly and he breathes in, out, and gently starts molding them into shape. "Have you gotten anywhere with those new journals?"

"Not really. Only a few were in the same code. The others are even worse."

"So she either grew relaxed or trusted something enough for it not to get intercepted." Nitram turns the little bird in his hands, smashing it flat and restarting. The magic gets shrill and sharp as he stretches the metal like putty.

Martin holds out his hand and he pulls a slab of metal off - not too big, _fuck_ , Martin's probably mad at how he's babying him - and drops it into his hand. His brother's eyebrow twitches  _I'm fine, Nitram_ , but he doesn't say anything. Starts shifting the metal into a ball, rolling it until it's smooth and reflects the room. "That advisor- Jeremiah, right?"

"Yeah."

"What's he look like?"

Nitram pauses, pulling one small spine out on his porcupine-fish. He shrugs, says, "Small. Glasses. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Not sure what type of magic."

"A runt?" Martin hums, as if interested, as if thinking. Nitram pinches out another few quills. 

"I assume so. He is very... adamant, that you need an advisor. It might honestly be a good idea, to at least use him as a scheduler." He has to be careful, so careful, because god knows his brother hates this sort of talk. Never liked it back home, still doesn't like it here. "We could hire someone else."

"No, no the name just sounded familiar."

"Oh?" Nitram looks up as he molds an ear. "Did you know him, maybe?"

"Probably just through rumors. Next time he's here, I'll see what he has to say." Martin shrugs and starts digging holes into the metal ball. He doesn't seem to have an object in mind. Nitram bites back his worry; Martin used to love molding these kinds little statues. 

Used to. A long, long time ago. Nitram can't even remember the last time they sat and did this. It must have been years. 

He quietly sets his finished project down, leaning back in the chair. He glances over at what Martin's doing, finding that he's making a few sharp pieces of metal. After a long silence, Nitram clears his throat, standing up. "I'll, uh-" Martin's eyes flick up to him. "I'll let you rest. I'll come by again when Seto's out."

"Okay." 

Nitram shuts the door behind him, balling his hands into fists and resisting the urge to punch something. Martin's isn't  _okay_ , and Nitram has a pretty good grasp on why. He just- Doesn't know what to do. Even after they  _left_ , Martin had always talked to him. Only recently had he started hiding anything, and...

He's pretty sure it's his own fault. Nitram can feel it, how Martin doesn't trust him as much anymore. Maybe it was the duel, maybe it was him trying to interfere with his plans, maybe it was just- Just- How it wound up. 

Shoving away from the door, Nitram paces down the hall, to the lobby. Simon is nowhere to be found, so Nitram collapses into the desk chair. Slumps over the tabletop, buries his face in his arms. He probably falls asleep, because when he sits up again it's to someone shouting at him for help.

He bolts upright, rising above the small divider on the desk. Simon is trying to wrangle someone into the doors, a mask over his face and gloves cover up to his elbows. Deathbell. Shit. Seto's still in surgery. 

"Stage one," Simon calls, avoiding the angel's snapping teeth as best he can. "But probably not for much longer, already violent."

Nitram slings open a drawer on the desk, grabbing a mask and quickly pulling it over his nose and mouth, then yanking on a pair of gloves. He rushes over, ducking under Simon's wing, using his own to jab the new angel in the back. She hisses, stumbling forward, and whirls around on him. "I just want to go home!" she begs, sobs shuddering in her chest. "I'm not sick, just let me go home. Let me go home."

"Sorry, but we have to be sure." De-escalate. Calm her down, get her into solitary. Alert Baki. "We have a cure, though, so if you are sick, you'll be okay."

"No, no! Let me go home." She tries to jump around him, but Simon grabs her shoulder and tosses her down on the ground. She screeches and when Simon again tries to reach for her, she snaps at him, fangs clacking together. Her brown hair flies wildly as she scrambles to try and get to her feet. Simon grabs her wrist, bending her arm around to her back, and pinning her down to the floor using his knee. She's wingless; Simon must have dragged her all the way here.

"Get Baki!" he shouts, struggling to hold her down. Nitram bolts towards the operation room, grabbing for the doorknob. Before he even has to turn it, he can tell there are heavy magic locks on them. He shouldn't really tamper with other magics, but- 

A twist, shove, and click, and he shoves the door open. Baki freezes where he's at, all four arms painted blue with-

Four arms.

"You're a shifter?"

Baki stares, Jin stares, but then Nitram quickly shakes his head. "Never mind that. There's a deathbell case. We need help."

Baki glances down- Shit, Seto looks horrible like that- and then shakes his head. "In the medicine closet, fridge two on the right, on the second shelf. There's a box of paralytic darts. Get those, use two, three if they're still fighting. Put them in solitary, and then go disinfect yourselves. I can't leave him open like this and- Shut the fucking  _door_ , Nitram." 

He quickly steps in, slamming it shut, staying pressed to it, holding his breath. He's not infected, he  _knows_ he's not. But it's bad to be in here. Really bad. "She's still in stage one."

"Good. There's still the cure from last time, but let me get it. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't feed her, don't give her water. Got it?"

He nods, and Baki's lower right arm waves him out. He starts changing gloves as Nitram hurries out. 

He bounds down the hall and across the room, slamming the closet door open. He glances across the multiple fridges and shelves, yanking open the second fridge. He scans the shelves, grabs a box of the darts and races back out to the lobby doors. Ripping open the box, he pulls out some of the plastic-encased needles, taking three just to be safe, like Baki said. Nitram pulls the caps off and drops down next to her, sticking one into her shoulder. Her shrieks escalate but quickly fall into whimpers. Simon, panting, leans back. When she starts twitching, he grabs the other needle from Nitram, uncapping it and sticking it into her neck.

She falls completely still, breaths shallow. 

"We're on our own, Baki can't leave Seto." Nitram grabs one of her arms, helping Simon haul her up. They stay clear of her watering eyes and drool, more or less dragging her on the floor by her arms.

"Great. Damn freak," Simon mutters, swearing to himself as they descend the stairs to the solitary rooms. He drops her arm and opens the door. 

"Are we going to change her clothes, or...?" Nitram trails off, uncomfortably shifting and glancing down at her. Her eyes flick up to him and her breathing gets heavier. Simon was right; she's too violent to just be in the first stage.

"If we don't, she'll strangle herself with them," Simon mutters, and pulls his knife out to start ripping her clothes away. Leaves her undergarments, then gets up to help Nitram drag her into the decontamination room. The moment her back hits the cushioned room, she lets out a growl, arm shifting slightly. The paralytic is already wearing off; he should've given her the third one.

Simon kicks her foot into the room and steps back, closing the door and locking it. They quickly exit the basement, leaving the lights off. Simon carefully removes his gloves and mask, already heading to a bathroom to scrub himself clean. 

Nitram chooses the furthest room down the hall, burning the gloves once he's inside the room. He's quick to get in the shower, disposing of his clothes in the same way. He wasn't too attached to them, anyway. He makes a mental note to get his dagger back from Baki, soon. 

For now, though, he scrubs and scrubs, washing his mouth, his nose and eyes, his hands and ears and any skin that had been uncovered. He should be okay. There wasn't any blood, just sweat and tears and spit, and both he and Simon didn't touch any bare skin with their own. They should be okay.

He wonders if Baki will put him back in solitary. He really, really hopes not. Being locked in that box, alone, in the dark and  _cold_ , away from the sky- He tries not to think about it. He can admit to _himself_ that he's more or less claustrophobic, but to others? He doubts they'd really listen. Martin would be the exception.

Martin is lucky, to be bedridden as he is, because he doesn't have to be out there, doesn't have to even risk it. With healing wounds, it's not  _safe_ to have him anywhere near an infected person. His immune system is weakened, he is  _overall_ in a frail state. No need to get deathbell mixed up with that. He wouldn't survive. Even with the cure. 

Nitram thinks back, momentarily, to Baki's four arms. A shifter. It makes sense, now, how he was able to make the cure. Change the blood,  _create_ antibodies that normal angels simply  _couldn't_ make and, well. 

But if Baki were to get sick, or hurt, or-

Nitram shudders. Deathbell outbreaks would be a much bigger cause of concern. They had been, before Baki came around. The doctor is  _important_ , and Nitram thanks nonexistent gods that he's alive.

[...]

When he finally gets out of the shower a few hours later, Seto is resting in his own room, probably already mostly-healed. Baki is sitting out at his desk, staring at nothing. He glances up when Nitram comes out.

For a second, Nitram takes a breath, tries to think of what to say, but eventually clicks his teeth shut and waits for Baki to start.

At first, Nitram isn't sure he will. A long silence stretches, before Baki finally whispers, "You remember that one story? About that woman, who was a shifter?"

"I've heard it. Parents tell their fledglings it a lot, from what I've heard. Keeps them in bed at night?"

"My sister loved that story," Baki says, quietly. He leans his face into his hands. "I guess- I guess you two didn't really hear it, growing up. I've never heard of shifters over in the east."

"I've never met any," Nitram admits, dragging over the extra desk chair so he can sit near Baki while they talk. "Until-"

"You never saw anything," Baki cuts in, quickly. "If you've at least  _heard_ the stories, you must know that if I'm found out-"

"Yes, I understand."

"Not even Martin."

Now  _that_ is a heavy request. Nitram has to think about it carefully, and for a long time. Baki stares at him fearfully the entire few minutes. Finally, he sighs, and says, "We don't keep secrets from each other, Baki."

Something in the doctor's eyes breaks, but then something cold falls in right after, filling the gap. Nitram looks away. "But I- Nobody else will ever hear of it. That, I can promise you."

"And Martin won't-?"

"We have no reason to go after you. We aren't stupid, Baki, you're the only one who could possibly make the deathbell cure."

"Yes, well..." Baki reaches for- Christ, he's drinking. Nothing is good when Baki is drinking. The angel takes a swig, holds it out to Nitram. "Some people don't think that way."

Nitram doesn't laugh, though he knows it's Baki's futile attempt to bring humor to the situation. He takes the offered bottle and glances at the label. Not one of his favorites, but it will do. "But you've heard the story? How she- How they say she took some monstrous form, and..."

"And slaughtered and feasted her way through the islands at dark? Yes, I've heard that. And a few others." Nitram takes a second gulp and gives him the bottle back. They pass it a few more times before Baki slumps onto the desk, shutting his eyes.

"I drew the- the shortest straws in the... In the bunch, you know? Healing  _and_ this?" Baki rubs his face, ruffles his top knot and pulls it loose. 

Nitram has to think about Seto. How the poor kid didn't  _ask_ for any of what he's been given. "Some people draw shitty hands," he mutters, glancing at the almost-empty bottle. "Do you have any more?"

"Eh, yeah." Baki slowly gets to his feet and wobbles. When his chair moves, it knocks over a bottle Nitram hadn't noticed before. "Lemme get it."

"Does Simon know?" Nitram calls, spinning the chair around to watch Baki rummage through the medicine closet. He bends down to open a fridge, slams it closed, and looks in another one. Procuring the bottle from it, Baki trudges back, saying, "Of course he does. We're- Well, we're almost married. We haven't fought yet, but I don't even know  _how_."

"I'm sure he'd teach you." Nitram vaguely recalls the several western courtings he's seen, knowing each one ends in a sparring match. To test the other's skills, weaknesses, strengths. To find out how they should fair together if a situation arose where they'd have to fight for their lives. He thinks it's kind of brutish, though he can understand. "I think he would."

Baki hikes a shoulder up, pulls the cork, and downs a shot. "Don't know if I'd even want to. I  _save_ lives, I don't take them."

"Learning to fight doesn't mean learning to kill. I don't like dealing lethal blows, either, yet I can still keep up with Martin in a spar."

Baki chuckles at this for some reason. They both fall silent, but eventually, he rolls his head to the side and says, quietly, carefully, "But I can trust you, right?"

"Of course. I won't tell another soul."

Baki coughs a laugh, "Does that include your half-soul twin, or?"

"Depends on how you look at it." Nitram shrugs, and stands, surprised to find himself sway. He blinks away the rocking motion of the room and says, "You should sleep. And that girl down in solitary-"

"I, um, already gave her the cure. It should work, since it hasn't, uh, expired yet. Seto's prob'bly good, don't think he needs any more healing sessions. Give it a few weeks 'fore you slap wings on 'im." Baki lifts his head from the desk, blindly reaching for the bottle. His hand swipes through the air. "You're drunk, give me that back."

"You never brought my bottle in solitary. This is payment," Nitram points out, already on his way down the hall, bottle clasped in his hand. He turns to call over his shoulder, "Go to sleep, Baki. You can trust me."

There's a mumbled curse, but then the squeak of the chair as Baki gets up. He glances back one last time, watching Baki slip into the room behind the desk. Then Nitram turns and steps into Martin's hospital room. Sets the bottle down on the counter.

His brother glances up from the ball of metal. He frowns. "What happened?"

"Other than the deathbell?"

"Well, I heard that happening. What else?"

Nitram groans as he sits down, rubbing his neck. Damn it, he hasn't been sleeping well. Spending most nights in a chair really took a toll on his neck and back. "Baki's a shifter."

Martin raises an eyebrow, whistles, and looks back at his stress ball. "Damn. Makes sense."

"You're not surprised?"

"I just- had a feeling." Martin's face stays neutral, and Nitram sits upright.

"You knew."

Martin blinks.  _Fuck_ /  _I'm sorry_. "He never told me, but... If you pay attention to his magic, it- It sounds different from others. Feels different. There was a shifter in the group, back in the east."

Nitram keeps carefully quiet. Martin doesn't usually willingly talk about  _that_. He rarely does at all. After a long second, Nitram sighs, rubbing his eyes. "You should tell him."

"Why bother? You know now, and so do I, so we can pretend you just told me." God, Martin isn't  _okay_ , he doesn't look alright, his eyes are so  _dull_ -

"Martin, we need to talk."

His hands stutter, stop, then he flattens the metal into a disc, and breaks off sharp pieces. Martin doesn't say anything for a while. Nitram eventually sighs. "You're-"

"I'm fine."

"But you're not, I can  _tell_ -"

"Nitram," Martin says and looks up, and god, where did his brother go? "I'm fine."

Nitram can't seem to swallow. Something's stuck in his throat, blocking his words. He glances away, scrunches his eyes, and nods.  _Okay_. 

Martin lets him have a moment. Then he says, gently, "Go to bed. I'm tired."

With the way Martin still has the metal, and how he's sitting up just ever so slightly, Nitram knows he's really not. He won't be asleep for another few hours. But Nitram nods, sighs, and bids him goodnight. 

His own room is dark. Nitram can't seem to stop past the doorway. He stands there for a few seconds, then shakes his head and turns for the lobby. Ignores Simon and Baki's quiet conversation beyond the lobby walls, and hurries outside. His wings rattle and he snaps them out as he runs. One pump, two,  _jump_ -

The island drops away as he climbs. He spins, glancing down momentarily, then arches his wings up, in, out, down, and repeats, rising and rising until he's above most of the clouds. His inhales,  _feeling_ the extra part of his lungs kick in, feeling the dizzying rush to his head. A few wisps of vapor are all that's up here. The wind snaps and whistles over him, through his feathers, whipping his hair around wildly. 

He pauses for a second, looking around, then launches himself higher. He's above  _everything_ , too high, so far up he's sure he might drop, might lose speed. But he keeps climbing, climbing until he can feel the lift give way, attack angle too steep, and then he stalls.

There's a second where he's hovering, floating atop the world. Lights of islands are splayed so far down below, clouds acting as cushions, and then the dark ocean underneath them. He's cemented in time, just him, nobody else.

Then everything snaps back into place and he's falling.

Nitram lets out a sharp whistle - a warning to any down below to  _get out of the way_ \- and tumbles in a free-fall.

Wings splayed out, just barely controlling his movements, he spreads his arms, closes his eyes. The wind flips him around, upside down, and he curls his wings close. His speed spikes as he drops, less surface to slow him down. Angling himself into a line, keeping his feathertips folded as close as he can, he squints open his eyes past the wind. A glint of metal and he shoots past an angel, earning a startled screech. 

Ignoring them, Nitram twitches a wing, sending himself into a spin. An island races to him, and away, and he breaks through the lowest cloud layer. In the distance is a piece of the ground, lights speckled over the terrain.

The ocean is coming up swiftly. Nitram went into the dive knowing he'd swoop out of it, but for a second there's a moment of doubt. Of himself, of his wings, of the ocean. 

It shakes him to his core. What was once a fun freefalling dive, turns sharp and twisted, and he snaps his wings out early, ignoring the pulling pain in his back and shoulders. He swerves, wings flapping wildly, out of control, as if he was a fledgling taking his first dive. He slews to the right, then drops, and suddenly the ocean is  _there-_

Nitram pulls up just in time, wings splaying out, feet hitting the ocean. It yanks him back, but he kicks free and rises away from clawing currents and hungry dark waters. 

Still shaking when he lands back on the island, he hurries back to his own room, kicking his shoes and socks off and shucking his pants over into the corner. He reaches back, unzipping his shirt, and falls into the bed. Wings are uncomfortable to sleep on, but he curls into a ball, and cocoons himself in. 

Raising his hands to his ears, he shuts his eyes and ignores any outside sounds. Everything is too  _much_ , and he can't seem to get away. He feels like he needs to scream. He's momentarily tempted to go back outside, but decides against it pretty quickly once the thought enters his head. No way is he going back out now, not when he nearly just took a dive into the ocean. It's deadly if there isn't land nearby. He doesn't know a single angel who could take off from the water. 

Hell, he needs to be more careful. There was no excuse for that, and- and-

Nitram gets up, tugs on a pair of pajama pants, and silently goes to Martin's room.

He doesn't knock. Goes in, sits down on his chair, and leans his head against his hand and shuts his eyes.

Martin doesn't say anything for a while. Eventually, though, he mutters, "Did you go swimming? You smell like salt."

"I almost did." Nitram doesn't open his eyes. He rubs his temple, his forehead, and then quietly says, "Everything's falling apart, Martin, and- I'm so sick of it."

He finally pries open his eyes to find Martin closing the journal he'd been decoding. He stares at the cover for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Martin opens his mouth, but Nitram beats him to it. Leans forward onto his knees, clasps his hands, spits, "Don't say you'll take care of it. If you haven't noticed, Martin, things don't  _go_ our way."

Martin raises a hand, as if to placate, but he looks unsure. Nitram takes a deep breath, but it does little to calm him. "We have to move again, if we have to, Martin."

Growling, Martin looks away. "And to where? There's nowhere that isn't inhabited and also has enough space and supplies for us to live without contact. And what about Seto? We can resign ourselves to solitude, but him? That's not healthy, and we-"

"I'm okay with it."

They both look towards the door. Nitram sits up abruptly, glaring at Seto. "Why are you up?"

"I don't feel that bad." Seto rolls his shoulders, twists his head around. "It's not that bad... But I could go with you guys. There's nowhere else for me  _to_ go."

"None of us are going anywhere," Martin cuts in, "For now."

"If we don't start picking up things to leave, we won't have the time," Nitram hisses, turning back to his brother. 

"I'm not leaving," Martin says, "I'm not running again."

Nitram gets up from the chair, pacing away from Seto. Steam puffs from his mouth when he groans. Pulling his hair, feeling the empty space where his horns are, he wishes he was home. But he's not. And there's no use in wanting things he can't get.

He turns to find Seto carefully easing himself into a chair, wincing when he moves his shoulder too quickly. "Seto, you need to go back and rest."

"I told you, I'm fine. A little sore, but that's it. I think Baki did something." Seto glances down at his hands where they're tugging at the hem of his shirt. He looks at Martin. "I'm not leaving, either."

Nitram bites back venom. Seto's just a fledgling, of  _course_ , he wouldn't know any better. But even then, humans age faster than angels. Nitram can't be sure how much Seto has aged mentally. 

"Nitram, we'll be fine. The only reason Zach came here was that if I died then, it would look like it was from my injuries."

"He had a knife," Nitram says bluntly, "I doubt that he was trying to be stealthy with that."

"Makes sense," Seto puts in. Unhelpful  _brat_ \- Okay, no, Nitram needs to calm down. He refuses to start snapping at the kid. He takes a few measured breaths and finally, eventually, says, "Okay. Fine. We'll stay here. But when Muran shows up, Martin, I'm letting you handle that."

Martin nods once, eyes flicking to a somewhat confused-looking Seto. Right. He only knows some Above. In English, Nitram tells him the plan while he heads for the door. He hears Martin whisper something but decides it's none of his business. Screw this, screw  _everything_. 

The door slams behind him with a hit from some magic and Nitram stalks back to his room. He should have known that talking to Martin wouldn't get anywhere. Well, okay, it did, but just not in Nitram's favor. 

So he decides, fuck it. He'll go to sleep and he'll wake up and they'll stay in the west until their death finally arrives and ends it.

Because that's how it will turn out, knowing his luck.


	21. Où t’es, papa où t’es?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title taken from 'papaoutai' by stromae

He asks Baki when he'll be able to fly.

Baki tells him not to even think about it yet.

And, yeah alright, Seto can agree with that. He's sore, and he can barely move his arms without pulling some sort of muscle or some shit in his back. And it hurts. If he's not moving around too much, it's generally okay, but  _hell_ he has metal  _things_ in his back.

Baki had said something or other when he'd come by the next day. Explaining this, and that, how it's  _attached_ to his spine, how the magic is so fine, how it's nothing like he's ever  _seen_. "The eastern ports are unbelievable, honestly. A work of art. They mend so seamlessly to the nerves and muscles and magic and..."

He pauses, hand still gesturing to the diagram that Martin had drawn. (One of many.) "Well," he says, embarrassed at Seto's wide-eyed stare. "They're good. And you're lucky Martin told me how to put it in you, but..."

"So you didn't know what you were doing?"

"Well, no, I did," Baki says, quickly waving his hand at Seto's now  _terrified_ look. "I've done plenty of these surgeries. The only reason I don't anymore is that, well, there are other doctors who can. Consider yourself lucky. None of them would have done it for you."

"Yeah," Seto mutters, thinking about how many ways it could have gone wrong, "Lucky."

Baki grimaces at him and turns away to look over the hand-drawn diagram again. "And Martin made those? They're beautiful. Never seen anything like them before."

"So- About how long, do you think?"

Baki sighs, obviously put off by Seto not sharing his enthusiasm. "Well. I did as much as I could to heal it. Obviously, your body needs time to recover; no amount of healing will change that. I just put a very large, very foreign object into your back, spine, and muscles. It's damaging, I'm not going to lie. You're going to have less flexibility overall, not including-"

"Baki.  _When_."

The doctor lets out one last drawn-out sigh, and says simply, "Three weeks."

Already standing and halfway to the door, Seto calls out thanks over his shoulder.

"Wait!"

Seto freezes at the door, biting back a groan. Turning to look back, he grimaces and asks, "Anything else?"

"A lot of things, actually. Sit back down."

Seeming to sense his unwillingness and annoyance as he sits back down, Baki says, "It's not just you, I have to tell everyone. There are rules and things you need to do, or else you're going to mess up your back, and you won't be able to fly."

"Okay, okay," Seto mutters, easing himself back into the chair. "I'm listening."

"No lifting  _anything_. No books, backpacks, plates,  _anything_. A pencil might be okay."

"Like, that's it-"

"That's it. At least for another week. You need to have Nitram bring you back once a week so I can check on you, to make sure nothing's messed up." Baki spins in his stool and wheels himself toward the counter. He grabs a few slips of paper and wheels back to him. "Take these. Read them. Study them, and do  _everything_ they tell you."

Seto begins to reach for them, but Baki drops the packet in his lap. "Don't reach your arm like that. Don't put any weight on them, either. You better get used to sitting down without the use of your arms. I'm serious, Seto, I can't tell you how many angels have fucked up their backs by doing simple shit like that. Everyone has to, just get used to it."

He sighs, picking up the papers, flipping through them. "Um... Baki, I can't read these."

Baki stops, glances down at the Above language on the papers, then mutters a curse under his breath. "I'll reprint them. On the second week, you're going to do stretches. Work out the muscles, start building strength back up in there. Every time you pull the wings up or down, it's  _moving_ everything there, Seto. It's basically like I connected mechanical muscles to your back. Ones that can be detached, but still muscles. It's going to hurt, and you're going to hate it, and you're going to be impatient, but you need to do what I say. What those say." He jabs a finger towards the pamphlet hanging uselessly in Seto's hand. "That's the most you can carry, right there."

Seto glances down at the pamphlet, maybe twenty pages total. He groans and reaches up to scratch at one of his horns, but drops his hand back down at Baki's glare. 

"After your first flight, you'll come  _immediately_ here. Don't even bother to stop to eat, or drink, or nap. The first flight is always the most dangerous. And no matter how much you want to, no flips, no loops, no sharp turns. The first flight is wonderful and beautiful, and  _dangerous_. It's going to be when we see if this all works. Have Martin with you, and Nitram. Make sure they wear their fastest set of wings in case you fall."

"I know this already," he mutters, and he can  _see_ Baki visibly restrain himself from slapping him over the head. 

"No, you don't. You might have a vague idea. But Seto, you grew up on the Ground. You've never seen someone's first flight go awry. It's horrible. And as much as you're annoying, and a trip-over, I don't want that happening to you. You're my patient, and from what Martin's told me, you're two very, very powerful angels' son, blood or not.  _I'm_ keeping my own neck safe, Seto. If you fall, it comes back on me. If you splat in the ocean, it's because I fucked up during surgery, or you didn't listen to me in the weeks after. So you  _will_ listen to me because  _I_ can't get in trouble. Got it?"

Taken aback, Seto nods mutely, eyes wide. He feels  _scolded_. It's the same tone of voice his mother used when he'd nearly stuck his hand down the garbage disposal. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good."

Baki turns back to his computer, letting the room fall into silence. Seto squirms uncomfortably. God, he forgot how much he hated the doctor. Sitting in the awkward silence makes him reminisce, and he  _hates it_. Eventually, the sound of a printer starting up in another room kicks on. Seto looks toward the noise, despite not being able to see it. Baki mutters for him to wait where he is and gets up, leaving the room for a few minutes.

When he gets back, he has a slightly larger pamphlet. He doesn't seem happy about it. "You and your English. I thought you were learning from Nitram?"

"He's... not the most on-track teacher."

"Ask Martin, he's probably bored out of his mind. And he'll remember."

Seto really doubts that, considering how his magic lessons have gone. "Uh..."

"I'm guessing you think otherwise?" Baki staples the papers and drops them in his lap. "Why?"

"They- Kinda stopped my magic lessons. I had, like, one, and..." He drifts off, trying to come up with an excuse as to  _why_. He can't just tell Baki what kind of magic he uses. That just- That wouldn't go over well.

"Well, what kind of magic do you use? Some people simply can't train others, because it's different. They don't know enough about it."

Seto bounces his leg and looks anywhere but Baki. The angel thinks for a moment, then takes a slow, steady breath. "Right, okay. Something not common, huh?"

"Um..."

"Yeah. I get where you're coming from. Look, kid, if it's something other people consider bad, you're going to have to teach yourself. An angel without magic is almost as bad as one that's grounded. Martin and Nitram- They might not like it, I won't lie to you. Depends on what you have." Baki leans against the counter, rubbing his forehead. He takes a few moments to collect his thoughts, then he says, "I won't pry. But you  _need_ to know how your magic works. If you don't, something could happen, and you could hurt someone, or yourself."

Seto momentarily thinks back to the first time he'd used magic. How he hadn't been able to let go the fire, let go of the  _heartbeat_ inside it. He wonders if it was Nitram's or Martin's. He shifts in his chair, tugging at the hem of his shirt. When he moves his elbows, he can  _feel_ his shoulder blades pressing against the port. Muscles working around the foreign object, tendons strained... "Okay. I'll try to- learn."

"Do it somewhere safe, away from others," Baki advises, standing. "Get out of here. Start packing, too, I'm releasing Martin today."

[...]

The warp rattles to life and Seto has a lot of doubts about his life so far.

The only way he can see that it's on is because the control panel is flashing. Nitram puts their bags through it and  _fuck_ his whole arm disappears for a second, then returns. Just- cut off, as if it was amputated, but then it's _back_ and fine. Seto feels somewhat sick.

Martin sits nearby, fiddling with one of the tightly-bundled wings. He can't wear them - not yet - but he's obsessing over them, anyway. "They'll be fine," Nitram says, picking up one half of the pair. He steps through the warp and disappears for a second, then comes back. "No damage, see?"

"Fine, fine," he mutters, letting Nitram take the second wing. Seto hurries over to Martin, standing next to him. "That's, like, safe right?"

"Yeah. Everybody uses warps."

"But it's rattling."

Martin waves off his concern and starts to pick himself up off the bench. Seto offers a hand, but he seems to ignore it in favor of getting up on his own. Once he's steady, he starts going to the warp. As far as Seto knows, he's still got a while to heal, but both Baki and Nitram have been using magic to help everything along. He can walk, at least. That's what matters.

"After you," Martin says, waving him along. Seto rocks back on his heels then heads for the warp. Nitram picks his bookbag up and steps through. Before he can even think twice on it, Seto jumps forward, scrunching his eyes shut.

He hears Nitram laughing at him. "You are through, Seto."

He opens his eyes to find that they're on the smithing island. "Whoa. It's that quick?" He turns to look at the warp, which is curiously quieter than the one at the hospital.

"That quick. I understand you can't help unpack, but would you go get the house ready and everything? On the wall behind the furnace, there is a small panel. Just touch each sigil, turn on all the magic and everything. It's simple, and touch-activated. No need for using magic."

"Yeah, I can do that." Seto watches him go back through the warp, then heads for the bridge. He hesitates, fingers gripping the rope railing tightly. Taking a deep breath, he starts across. Halfway through, it wobbles, the wind pushing at it from the left. Biting his lip, Seto hurries the last few steps, chills racing down his spine as it shakes even worse. He hits the rock and rushes up the stairs.

He's never been so glad to be back on this island.

The garden needs work, but it's not as bad as when he first got there. The house is dark, and when he gets up to the porch, coated in a layer of frost and grime. He jabs at the sigil above the doorknob and steps into the house. The air tastes  _stale_ , compared to the crisp outside. Seto grimaces and glances over the house, noticing footprints on the floor from when Nitram had stopped by to grab some things. 

Heading towards the sitting area, he steps down next to the couch, glancing with a frown at the many bottles laid scattered around. He thought Nitram had been at the hospital the whole time... 

It explains somewhat of how bad Nitram looks. Coming home to drink at night, flying back in the morning. That makes sense. Seto knows Nitram had more or less moved into the room next to Martin's, once it was clear that the angel would be alright. 

Shaking his head, Seto goes to the furnace, glancing over the wall. And- there, a wooden panel. He walks up to it, digging his fingers into the crease and prying it open. Something snaps and he looks up, startled.  _Shit_ , there was a latch. No wonder it was hard to open. 

Gingerly taking the broken latch off of the wall, Seto turns it over, then tucks it in his pocket. Okay, he'll show them later. For now, he just needs to turn the house on.

Reaching up like this is  _killing_ his shoulders... 

But he pokes each sigil until they light, and as he does, the house slowly hums to life. He hears the waterwheel start to churn in the distance, and a few moments later, lights flick on. 

Nodding to himself, Seto goes back to the coffee table, reaching down to grab one of the bottles. He stops when the muscles in his upper arm pull. Well, that's a good excuse to get out of cleaning.

With a sigh, he decides to just leave them there and head to his own room. Nitram can clean up his own mess. And besides, Seto is  _tired_. He thinks it's probably because of the surgery. 

His room is good to see. Seto wishes he'd hung up the tapestries. They're still piled all on his bed, forming a slumped-over nest. Well, he can't do that now. He'll just have to wait.

Settling down among the blankets and pillows, Seto reaches down his shirt, pulling out the amulet. He'd latched the bracelet around the chain so he wouldn't lose it, but now he unclips it and sets it gently onto the bedside table. It glows faintly under his touch. His own gem pulses and he glances down at it, feeling the warmth as it brightens beneath his fingers. Baki's words from earlier in the day come back to him, settling in his head like sand. No, neither of the brothers will want to train him on how to use his magic. But he needs to  _know_. What Baki said has merit - of course, if his magic is out of control, he could hurt someone. Or himself. But other than that, now that he is thinking about it, there's this  _itch_. One he can't seem to scratch. As if it's under his skin, in his bones.

He thinks it might eventually drive him mad.

Seto shakes his head, reaching up to scratch his horn. He jerks in surprise when something flakes off, and pulls his hand back. A flake of black, like shed snakeskin, sits in his palm. Shit, is that  _normal_? Does he have to worry about his horns falling off, now?

Tail giving an unnerved swish where it's stuffed down one pants leg, Seto quickly gets up. He listens for any movement downstairs, but they're not home yet. Still, he pads out of his room, toes curling at the cold floor. Peering over the railing shows that he was right in his guess that nobody's back yet. It might take Martin a while to walk up to the house...

Cursing his stupidity, Seto hurries down the stairs, shoving his feet into his shoes and yanking on his coat. The sharp movement makes him stop to wince and hiss in pain, but he quickly slams open the door-

Right into Nitram's face.

The angel makes some weird  _Oohf_ sound and stumbles back, holding his nose. Martin laughs from where he's at, safely out of range of the door. "Geez, kid, got somewhere to be?"

"I, uh..." He winces at the blood Nitram wipes from his nose. Christ, he didn't think he'd slammed the door open  _that_ hard. "Um. Thought you might need help back in?"

"No, no, we're fine. Well, I am." Martin chuckles under his breath and makes his way inside, leaning heavily on the wall. Seto's half-tempted to ask why he didn't get a wheelchair. Or, at the very least, crutches. 

Nitram grumbles something and goes for the kitchen. "It's not your fault, Seto, don't worry."

It sounded slightly sarcastic. "Oh, uh, sorry, sorry Nitram."

"Give the kid a break, he's growing," Martin calls from the couch. For how injured he is, he does move fast. Seto closes the door,  _gently_ , and heads for the living room. "Um, but, do horns, like, shed?"

"Yeah," Nitram says nasally, pressing a cloth to his face. He pulls it away and it's blue with blood but it doesn't look as bad as it could have been. Seto doesn't  _think_ he broke his nose. "You have to polish them. Sandpaper works pretty well for getting rid of the shedding, rocks work too. But use oils, or goose fat, to polish them and keep them healthy."

"Wish I'd known that," Seto mutters, and he catches Martin looking somewhat guilty. 

"Well, we haven't had to do anything of the sort for a while," Martin says, "I forgot about it when I was on the Ground, since I was going to be sawing them off."

Seto shifts when his tail moves unhappily. He's tempted to pull it up from his pants. It  _hurts_ to keep it there. And besides, it grows pretty far up his back. He wouldn't have to cut any holes or anything in his jeans.

"Speaking of which, Nitram says, "We need to get those done soon. Mine are showing through, as are yours."

Seto tunes the conversation out for a moment, trying to subtly reach back and grab it. It's awkward, and he hears Martin's voice trail off. Freezing, Seto looks up to find both angels looking at him strangely. He sits there for a moment, then says, "My tail."

"Oh, oh," Nitram mutters, turning back to the sink. He runs the tap and washes out the towel. Martin looks away as well and Seto takes that as permission to quickly try and pull it out from under him.

The relief, once it's free, is instant and  _hell_ he never wants to put it back there again. It slaps his leg and settles in the crack of the couch. Martin looks over at it. "I thought you said it was only hand-length?"

Seto glances down, frowning, and says, "Well, it was."

But now it's nearly half the length of his arm, twitching and flicking on its own. Brown fur has grown out over it, with a tuft at the end. He grabs it when it flaps again, and feels along the end. His skin crawls at the foreign feeling. "Isn't it supposed to be a counter-balance weight?"

"Among other things. Are there any spikes, any webbing?"

"Uhm, no." Seto pulls the furs apart, then stops. He pulls it closer to his face, biting back a yelp when that  _hurts_. Upon closer inspection, though, the furs are sticking together, like strands and bristles of a feather. Strange.

"Ours had feathers," Nitram says helpfully. "Like, fins, I guess. Some people have full bird-like tails."

"Geez," Seto mutters, "You don't think mine will be like-"

There's a knock on the door.

The three of them freeze for a long second. Quietly, Martin says, "It's not Baki. He has a deathbell case at the hospital, he wouldn't leave."

"Simon, maybe?" Seto whispers back. Nitram puts the washrag down and quietly goes to the door, peering through the peephole. He stiffens, then quickly puts his hand over the hole. "Seto, upstairs.  _Now_."

"Uh-"

"Upstairs, kid," Martin says, already getting to his feet. Seto scrambles up and hurries up the stairs, swinging around the banister and dropping to the floor at the corner of the room, just where he can decide to drop out of sight, but can see most of the living room.

Martin goes to his room, probably to change and look somewhat presentable. And then Nitram opens the door-

Horror sinks into Seto's gut and he gags, scrambling back with wide eyes. 

 _Jordan looks like him_.

He's seen Brian only once, at their mother's funeral. The angel hadn't said anything. Hadn't even seemed to want to look at them. He'd stood at the back, hands clasped in front of him, grey wings folded back. 

The first thing Seto notices is that his hair is more grey than it had been. His goatee is peppered with white, as are his temples and the sleeked-back hair. His eye (how did Seto not notice the missing eye when he'd first seen him?) is pale lavender, almost as white as Seto's own eyes.

Brian glances across the house, commenting something that Nitram quickly replies to. But there's a white static in his ears, like a broken TV. He can't help but stare, frozen where he's at, terror thrumming through his veins. Something hits his side and he distantly realizes it's his tail, whipping back and forth.

The General hangs his coat up on the hanger, neatly folding his sleeves up to his elbows. "It's a nice place, really. Have you seen it?"

"We just got back from the hospital," Nitram says, leading Brian to the living room. He lights the fireplace with spark rocks, then tunes the sigils on the side to make it blaze a bit bigger. Brian is maybe a foot taller than Nitram, and he settles on teh couch gracefully. 

"Yes, how is he doing? I heard my brother beat the living hell out of him."

"Almost," Nitram bites, going to the kitchen. "Tea, coffee?"

"Tea, please." With Nitram not right in front of him, Brian's eye wanders. He pauses for a second, then looks up.

Seto can't move.

They make eye contact, and something in Brian's face  _falls_. "W-Well," he says, quickly looking away. The waver in his voice sounds out of place. "My brother is an idiot, surely, and I hold no ill will against you or your twin."

"That's good to hear." Seto can hear the question in Nitram's voice, and he realizes why a second later. They're speaking in English. Seto tries to take a deep breath, but can't do much more than gasp in quick bursts of air. "It wouldn't do to make enemies."

There's a dangerous hint in Nitram's tone. But he smiles as he hands Brian the cup of tea. Then when Nitram sits down, he looks up, meeting Seto's eyes. There's a moment where the angel seems to tell him to  _stay calm_ , but Seto slowly shakes his head. He curls his hands into fists, ignoring the scratching of the wood.

Brian seems to hear it. Neither Seto or Nitram miss his flinch. He takes a sip, though, and says, "That sigil, though. That was..."

"Unexpected," Nitram says quickly. "I had no idea-"

"All was fair in that fight," Brian says, his knee bouncing. He reaches up to push a lock of black and grey hair back into it's gelled style. "Magic, wings, weapons. Those were the rules drawn, and Martin took advantage of that. I'm impressed."

"Thank you." Martin's voice is  _cold_. He walks to the armchair, easing down in it. From where Seto's at, he can see his horns curling out from his hair. Brian doesn't say anything. Maybe he already knows. "But I have to ask why you're here."

"Right, right," Brian sighs, and sets his cup down on the coffee table. "Well, I came here with a warning, actually. Word has gotten around that you've left the hospital, and-"

"How? We just got back." Martin's fingers tap on the armrest. Impatient, and  _pissed_. 

"You would be surprised at how...  _rumors_ can travel." Brian looks up. Seto bites back bile.

Nitram stands up, then. "There is no truth to any rumors-"

Martin holds up a hand. He seems to get what game Brian is playing. Seto's sure both of them know, but maybe Nitram doesn't know the rules.

"What may those rumors be, General?" Martin sounds deadly. As if he'd be able to snap Brian's neck, even in his current condition.

Brian sweeps a hand through his hair again. And is silent. A long moment passes, and then he sighs, and says, "Anyway. Junys will be looking to challenge you. He and Nathaniel were..." He waves a hand. "Close."

"Nathaniel has a wife."

"That never stopped my brother." Brian shifts in his seat. 

"That never stops any of you Generals, it seems," Martin hisses. At this, Brian scowls, a hint of anger finally showing.

"Look, wingsmith-"

"General."

"Look,  _easterner_ ," Brian hisses, and his anger finally breaches, building with each word. "You cannot judge me, or any woman, for my or her choices, and you cannot-"

"Her  _choices_?" Seto hisses, and all three of them fall silent. He stands, hands gripping the railing hard enough to make it splinter. Brian looks up, something unreadable in that lavender eye of his. "Her choices? Did she even  _have_ one?"

Brian's mouth works, as if chewing on the thought. Nitram stands and starts heading to the stairs, but Seto is already racing down them. He feels  _electric,_ sliding to a halt on the wooden floor. "She didn't, did she? You dropped Jordan on her, and then you- you- You  _ruined_ her life!"

"She ruined her own life," Brian hisses and stands. The sudden change of height doesn't deter Seto. He curls his hands into fists and  _reaches_ , and the fire roars, bursting out from beneath the furnace's lip. Brian glances toward it.

"No,  _you_ did. You filthy, horrible excuse for an angel. She never deserved that, she- You  _killed_ her."

"No, my brother did-"

Seto points and Brian actually shut his mouth. The angel's eyes widen, though, and Seto can  _feel_ the heartbeats thundering away, the magic snared in his grip. Martin staggers to his feet, says something meant to be pacifying, tries to get him to stop. But Seto ignores the twins, ignores Nitram trying to pull him aside. He shoulders the angel away, tail whipping back and forth, hitting his legs on each swipe. He growls, a low noise rattling in the bottom of his throat. "No, you did. It was  _your_ fault she ever even had us. It was  _your_ fault that she kept Nathaniel alive- Because if she hadn't, you would have killed her, anyway. It is  _your_ fault, it is  _all_ your fault."

He crooks his fingers, and  _yanks_ , and Brian stumbles forward, going to one knee. His breaths come in ragged gasps and Seto can feel his magic fighting, trying to twist away. He curls his other hand and pulls at the heartbeats, ignoring Martin yelling at him to stop. The room is vibrating, the furnace clanking and rocking, the books on the shelf falling to the floor. Seto feels like lightning, like energy and anger, and electricity crackles around his hands. "This is  _revenge_. I deserve this, I've _earned_ this. You don't- You shouldn't be alive, it should have been  _you_. Your brother paid, and now you will, and- And-"

Sparks enter his sight, making his pupils shrink into pinpricks, and he twists his arms until Brian is completely kneeling, arms twisted  _wrong_. He reaches for strings, and finds the heartbeats, and starts  _shredding_ them. His vision turns white, and he can only feel the magic, can only notice this- this  _monster_ in front of him, this murderer, this-

And then Nitram's hands are around his, pulling him back, breaking the strands from his grip. Brian gasps, stands, and staggers a few steps back. He takes a moment to lean against the lamp table. After a moment, Brian smooths out his button-down shirt, tugging out the creases. Collects himself. He takes one step toward him-

Then Martin is in the way, looking like a viper ready to strike. "He's mine. You never claimed custody, and he's an orphaned angel. I've adopted him, and if you hurt him, I will  _kill_ you."

Brian growls, magic glowing in his throat. But after a long, long second, he nods, and backs away. 

Still trying to blink white-hot fury from his eyes, Seto tries to pull away from Nitram, but the angel's grip on his wrists is like steel. Growling, unable to form words, he yanks harder, struggling, kicking, nearly dropping to the ground. A thought enters his mind and he acts quickly, striking forward and sinking his teeth into Nitram's arm. The angel barely flinches. 

"Well," Brian says, as if he'd made up his mind, going to gather his coat. He gives Seto a wide berth. He looks back at Martin, and pinches his lips into what should have been a smile, but is more like a grimace. "Good luck to you. Especially with that feral beast-child in your care."

He shuts the door behind him and Martin goes to lock it. 

Nitram slowly, slowly starts to let go of Seto's hands. Eyes still trained on the door, Seto doesn't even notice until Nitram pries his wrist away from his teeth. He tastes metal. "Martin," Nitram says quietly, calmly, "He-"

"I know, I know." Martin hurries over, limping. He steps between Seto and the door, blocking his vision. "Hey, you with us yet, kid?"

Seto bites back a growl, hissing air through his teeth. He can't seem to make words. He feels twitchy, as if he needs to run, or pounce, or do  _something_.

Biting back a groan, Martin kneels down to his eye level. Puts a hand on his shoulder. Seto tries to move to see the door, but Martin blocks his view again. "Hey, look, this happens. Especially to fledglings over in the east. Especially to those that- have similar situations to yours. Look at me, Seto. Hey, look."

Finally, Seto focuses, eyes meeting Martin's. He feels like collapsing, all of a sudden. It's a miracle he can still stand on his two feet. 

"You must have had more eastern blood than I thought," Martin says, quietly. Seto only half-listens. "Yeah, these rages aren't fun, are they? Hey, one happened to me once, after our dad passed... Nearly bit Muran's fingers off. My teeth are a bit sharper than yours, though, huh?" And he grins but doesn't show teeth. For some reason, Seto is happy about that. "But it's alright, it happens. Ignore what that asshole said, you're no feral-child or anything like that, kids just have these little fits sometimes. You're hurt, and everything has changed on you very, very suddenly. But it's alright. You've got me and Nitram."

He slowly unclenches his jaws, hating the metal coating his tongue. As if blinking into awareness, Seto looks down, reaching up to wipe his mouth, smearing blue. They're here. Martin, Nitram, they're here. He blinks a couple of times and looks back at Martin.

"Alright, good, you with me now?"

"Uh," Seto croaks. Martin seems to take that as a good sign.

"Let's go back to the couches, so we can sit down. My knees are killing me kneeling like this, huh? Come on, kid." He slowly stands, trying his best not to put any pressure on Seto's shoulder. "And don't worry about Nitram. We signed up for this."

Mutely nodding, Seto lets Martin lead him back to the couches by his shoulder. Sits down near the corner, tail dropping through the empty space beneath the backrest. Martin sits down in his armchair, sighing. He starts talking about random crap, how he has a wing set already designed and mostly made, how he figured Seto might like something fast and agile, how they really just need to wait for the next few weeks, then Seto will be flying. Nitram comes over somewhere in the middle of this and sits down next to Seto, bandages wrapped around his wrist. 

Neither of them really ask him to talk as they continue the conversation. Nitram mentions something about how they can stain the metal to make it colored, or else they'll just be a light silver. 

The three of them sit like that for some time, before Seto breaks the conversation with, "I think... I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Yeah, that's alright." Martin starts to stand, but ends up wincing and dropping back down. "Been a long day for all of us."

"It's only a bit after noon," Nitram mutters but gets up anyway. "But I will bring you dinner later, is that alright?"

"Yeah," Seto says, brushing off Nitram's offered hand. He pries himself off the couch, hobbling for the steps. He feels... drained. Not numb, necessarily, just... Tired. But he doesn't think he'll be able to sleep.

Nitram bids him goodnight and shuts the door once Seto is inside. He glances around the room. It seems blue, from the grey light showing in from the window. They must be going through a cloud. Seto quietly goes over to the window, drawing the curtains back. He pulls the lock and swings the glass pane out. The fresh, cold air rushes in, pushing his hair back. Birds sing in the distance.

Letting the curtains fall, he goes and sits at the desk. It's only then that he notices his backpack had been set there. When Nitram had the time to do it, he isn't sure. 

Seto reaches down and unzips it, pulling out the photo album. It's too heavy and he winces, but quickly drops it onto the desk. Reaches over and turns on the lamp. He flips through the pages until he reaches near the end, stopping at the graduation pictures.

His mother looks  _proud_ , standing there, shaking Muran's hand. And now that Seto looks, he sees the similarities between Muran and the other two. Sure, it's not as obvious as the twins, but the same nose shape, eyes, and the ram-like curve of his horns...

Curious, Seto looks at his mom, noticing the black horns curling back across her skull. He reaches up to his own, fingers traveling over the small things. Maybe they'll grow out like hers.

He goes to the very last page, the last photo taken being the last time she was with her family. He closes the album and reaches down from one of the journals.

It's one that Martin was trying to decode. He got halfway through. The date reaches back to before Jordan was born. Seto reads through it for a few minutes, but it's only observations, what happened and how. Nothing that really clues into anything his mom might have thought. Sighing, figuring that he's too tired to go through  _this_ emotional turmoil, he leaves the book open on the desk and turns off the lamp.

The bed is soft and welcoming when he falls into it. He used to love taking midday naps, on days off of school. So many late nights made him want to sleep more than anything. But he hasn't taken any naps recently. Seto feels like he deserves one. 

He sits there for a while, before sighing and rolling onto his back. And immediately regretting it. Hissing, he quickly turns back onto his side, tenderly reaching back to feel where the metal protrudes from his back. Fuck, will he ever be able to lay on his back again? He's seen Martin sleep like that, so he figures he probably will. Probably just needs to heal.

Resigning himself to sleeping on his side for the next month, Seto pulls a pillow closer, nearly curling around it. Ignores the conversation quietly going on downstairs. And he shuts his eyes. 

But he doesn't sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hey we finally get to meet brian


	22. the leader of the pack

Nitram was right about Jeremiah.

Martin sits there listening to the advisor for maybe five minutes, not even, before he raises a hand. Jeremiah cuts off quickly - too quickly for it to be normal. Right, he worked under Nathaniel...

"So what I tell you, happens, correct?" Martin has to be sure. Official orders aren't his strong suit, he hadn't been trained exactly like Nitram had when they were young. 

"Well, sir, uh," Jeremiah takes out one of his papers, looks over it, folds it back into his files. "Yes, in a sense. Though for major things, there has to be official documentation, you have to sign a few things, and-"

"I want to pull the military from the east."

In the kitchen, Nitram drops a glass, coughing on what he'd been drinking. Jeremiah doesn't look over, staring wide-eyed at Martin. "I-I- Sir, that isn't advised, and as your-"

"No. I don't need to hear it. I said retreat."

"I-" It's as if the world crumbles before Jeremiah. Something in his eyes turns desperate, shatters, and he quickly scrambles for something in his bag. Al lthe while, he stutters, "No, sir, you- you don't understand. We need to- We- We can't just  _retreat_. They may follow us, and they may- They'll  _decimate_ our people, s-sir. They could kill-"

"They won't." He knows his brother. He  _knows_ Muran is not outright attacking. He wants peace, and Martin will give it to him. Hopefully, it will save his ass whenever his brother shows up. "I know they won't. Listen to me, Jeremiah. We are retreating. We pull every bit of military personnel out, and we will never go back. So give me what I need to sign, and a pencil."

Nitram is still choking. Martin looks up as Jeremiah hands him documents, raising an eyebrow. Nitram waves, still bent over the sink. He raises his hands to rub his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Nodding to himself, Martin returns to the papers, glancing at it. Fills in his word, fills in the retreat, calling for all military action to cease. Signs his name at the bottom. 

Okay. One thing checked off the list. Martin takes a deep breath and ignores the way Jeremiah's hands shake when he takes the papers back and excuses himself to go out to his messenger hawk, which is sitting ready on the porch railing. 

While he's gone, Nitram says, "Do you think it will help?"

"Probably." He can't get anything else in before Jeremiah comes back in, pale and shaken. The cry of the hawk fades out and Martin counts it as a victory.

"Now," he says, "Tell me about the dragon Nathaniel had."

"Well, there are- There are more important things to attend to, sir. Sir. We, uh-"

"No. Tell me about him." Martin watches the man pull out a small folder and page through it.

"Well, uh, Nathaniel was usually the one to feed it. He kept records of that, though. A cow every two weeks, an extra one before any dredging occurs. It's actually scheduled for another Ground-island dredging this upcoming month-"

"Cancel that. No more of that. He will not be used as a slave."

Jeremiah pauses and glances up at him, and for a second, Martin meets his eyes. There's something else there. Martin denies the fact that his skin prickles in goosebumps. Something is wrong with this man. 

"Of course, sir," he says, and the moment passes. "It is kept in one of his islands attached to his homebase. I believe his wife and son are still there, what do you wish to do with them?"

"Leave them for now. I'm not focused on them. You said just  _one_ cow every two weeks?" Martin starts to get up, hiding his pain with a growl. "And where is he? In a pen, a barn, or-?"

"Nathaniel uses Taya Moll to open the cage, sir. She's a very skilled earth-magic angel. Nathaniel has the dragon in a cave, it's sealed, so you don't have to worry about it getting out-"

Nitram swears colorfully and Martin gets to his feet. Jeremiah stumbles up after him. "Open the warp, I'm going."

"Sir? Sir, you're still injured. Sir, I-"

"Call me sir  _one more time_ ," Martin hisses, turning on the angel. Jeremiah  _cowers_. "Open the warp, and then get me..." He thinks, then asks, "How old is the dragon?"

"Just- a decade, or so, probably less."

Nitram is already grabbing his jacket, helping Martin get into it. Thank god he's already dressed. "They're _omnivores_ , fuck. Nathaniel knew jack  _shit_ ," Nitram mutters. "Apples, I know Aelaya liked them- Whole trees, lemons, probably some silverwillow-"

Motioning for Jeremiah to follow, they go for the warp. Nitram stays behind to tell Seto. 

Muttering under his breath, cursing himself for putting the warp all the way down on the smithing island, Martin starts making a list. Has Jeremiah write it all down. "And I want it there  _now_. Do you have another messenger hawk?"

"No, sir, uh- Uh- There are servants at the island, though, and orchards. We can get most of this on one of the connecting islands, so-"

"Good." He waits for Jeremiah to punch in the number codes, then steps through the moment it whirs to life.

Instantly, the smell of scorched  _things_ meets his nose. He grunts, holding his hand over his mouth. "What is that?"

"Well, sir, the dragon- There is a hole for air, but that is it. So whatever it does in the cavern, it usually burns-" Jeremiah stumbles alongside him, trying to keep up with his pace. Martin glances around, noticing the bare island. There's heat under his shoes, though, he can feel it through the rock. 

"What about water?" He goes for where the smell is coming from, looking at the small hole. He wouldn't even be able to fit through it, much less any light, hardly any fresh air...

"Yes, sir, there's a small pond of water. It has to be refilled, but-"

Martin twists his hands, pulls on magic, and  _shoves_ , and the edges around the hole crumble away, letting light into the cavern below. Angry shrieking meets his ears and-

He stumbles back and fire plumes up-

_Duck, fall, shit his leg got hit, fire and the smell of propane fills his sense, oh god he is **burning** -_

"Sir? Sir, did it hit you?"

"No," Martin hisses, shaking the thoughts away. "I'm fine." He pulls his shirt up over his nose, glancing at the warp as Nitram comes stumbling out, swearing under his breath. Martin casts a glance at the surrounding islands, seeing the telltale shimmer of a shield put up. Beyond that, though, are lush islands, full of farms and buildings. He can make out some humans working away in the fields. Fuck, he needs to deal with  _those_ , too. 

"I'll go get those supplies you asked for," Jeremiah says meekly, quickly flitting away with a flash of his wings.

Nitram comes up next to him, covering his own face with his sleeve. "Down there?" he asks, voice muffled. 

"He's probably weak and starving," Martin hisses, and goes a few paces away. Starts drilling a new hole with magic. Nitram glances around then begins helping. Martin is grateful; he's still hurt, and probably couldn't keep it up.

After opening a few more, Martin goes to a small crop of rock sticking up from the smooth expanse. He tests it with his magic, then nods. "They made the steps here, can you help me?"

"Are you sure it's safe to go down?" Nitram jogs over, slowly opening just enough space for Martin to step down into. 

"Probably not," Martin says, taking a few steps down. Growls quickly meet him, and the sound of scales rustling on stone. Scraping claws, then a shift in the air as the dragon lunges toward him. He quickly backs up the stairs, followed only by furious howling.

"We'll wait until Jeremiah gets back with the food," Martin decides, then curses under his breath. "No more fire. My bet is that one burst was all he's got left."

"He breathed flame?" Nitram asks. Martin sighs, nods, and glances over at his brother.

This is bad. Worse than he thought. And Jeremiah said that Nathaniel was the only one feeding him, so... Nitram seems to be on the same track of mind. He sighs and starts pacing.

It only takes another few minutes for a small group of angels to show up, toting three different tagalongs bundled with trees and various crates. They land and quickly start unloading. One starts coughing and has to fly away.

"How are you going to get all that down there?" Nitram mutters, watching with wary eyes as the angels pick up their tagalongs and quickly leave. Martin shrugs and goes to the uprooted trees, plucking head-sized orange and pink apples. He takes three, and then two lemons. "Open the stairway all the way up. Leave me half a wall to get down there."

Jeremiah starts stuttering again, trying to tell him that it's not a good idea. But Martin already knows that.

Nitram shoves the rock apart, and Martin hastily steps down, thankful the wall is there. 

The dragon growls the moment Martin comes into view. With the little light from the airholes, Martin can make out his general shape. Slanky, long body, a flash of grey scales, wings pulled close to his body.

"I mean no harm," Martin says as he walks down, carefully keeping the dragon's head in view. Or where he's pretty sure his head is. "I have brought food, and good news."

A sharp growl, dropping into throaty clicks. Martin finally reaches the bottom step and then  _bows_. "Nathaniel is dead. He will no longer bring you harm."

The growling doesn't stop. But the dragon rustles, twisting about himself. Martin stays in his bow, and says, "My name is Kaizen, of the eastern islands. Do you have a name?"

Silence. Dread starts to rot in Martin's stomach. He stands up from his bow, frowning into the darkness. "He never named you, did he?" he whispers, only answered by the dragon's growl.

Martin takes a deep breath, and a few steps forward. The growling crescendos into a thundering chitter, like treebark cracking under subzero temperatures. Martin continues walking forward until he reaches a good distance into the small cavern. It's  _tiny_. It's not even bigger than his own house. He bends down and sets an apple on the ground, right in the way of the light. Then he quickly backs up, back to the stairs. And sits down on the bottom step, grunting at the pain. 

The dragon rumbles and eventually comes forward, darting to the fruit. Martin makes out a flash of antlers and scales, and then he's back in the darkness, crunching on the fruit. "I have more," Martin says, and the growling pauses for only a second. "If you will come closer, I will give it to you."

A whistle, bark, and the shifting of claws on stone. Martin doesn't look away, but his bet is that most of the rock is scratched to high hell. 

Slowly, after what seems like an hour, the dragon stalks closer, keeping to the wall. Martin doesn't let him leave his sight. 

And, in one of the beams of light, he pauses.

Martin can't hold back his gasp, because what should have been clean, healthy scales and fur, is a mangled mess of scar tissue. A burn, arching across the right side of the dragon's face, baring teeth from where lips had been burnt away, the eye all but a closed slit, probably boiled and shriveled inside his own skull, and the antler is cracked, broken, not branching out like the other. There are only a few stubs where the dragon's feelers should be, unlike the long, draping whiskers on the other side.

"Oh my god," Martin breathes and gets to his feet. "I- He-"

He's speechless. Back home, dragons are  _revered_. Respected, and  _worshipped_. Their judgment was listened to, whether their judged were guilty or not, and they were nearly above the King in power and importance. For this- For something like this to have happened, it- He- 

He bites back bile and slowly sets the fruit on the floor, easing himself down onto his knees. "He didn't even name you," he whispers, horrified.

The dragon lowers closer to the ground, one good eye glaring at Martin. He huffs smoke and inches closer, trying to pull the fruit closer with heavy breaths. Wordlessly, Martin pushes them closer. The dragon swallows another apple whole but pauses at the lemon. Sniffs it suspiciously, then bites into it. Hesitates. Then eats the rest of the food in a few hungry gulps.

Then he raises his head to look at Martin. He isn't growling, but it might not even be a good sign. 

The unburnt nostril flares. A deep inhale and Martin flinches back at the smoke curling from the corners of his mouth. 

"Pakka," Martin says, and the dragon jerks back. "Your name. Pakka."

The dragon slowly, slowly, lays on the ground, folding his limbs beneath him. He tilts his head and lowers it to Martin's eye-level. As if regarding him, wariness plain and obvious in his slitted pupil. Then he sniffs heavily, shifting to move his head around. 

"Right, I- I have more food, just- Give me a bit, okay?" Martin struggles up from the ground, hissing in pain. Pakka scrambles back at his sharp movements, a growl rising in his throat. But he pads closer, curious, inhaling. Martin stops moving, afraid that it might look as if he was trying to run. Pakka is a predator, a hunter. Dragons aren't  _human_ , they don't act or think like angels. Martin knows this.

He slowly holds out a hand, palm turned skyward. Pakka hesitates, then extends his neck from where it had been scrunched up. His working whiskers brush Martin's fingers, then he snuffles at his palm. Probably checking for food.

The soft muzzle vaguely reminds Martin of a horse's nose. He stays still, relaxed, even as Pakka inches closer, until they're eye-to-eye. Martin can't help but stare at the horrible scar. And now that Pakka is closer, with his body in one of the beams of light, Martin can make out whip-marks burnt along his back, shoulders, and neck. The mane of fur along his spine is oily and limp, hanging down in dirty brown strands.

"What he did was  _wrong_ ," Martin whispers, afraid to raise his voice. Pakka still flinches back, whiskers rising. He blinks his good eye and tilts his head, working, cow-like ear swiveling forward. "And I'm going to make up for it, okay? Let me go and get you some more food. I might need to get my brother's help-"

And Pakka rushes away, growling, heaving rough barks. Martin backs up, raising his hands to show he's unarmed. "No, no, I trust him. He's family, Pakka. He only wants to help."

Pakka's growling goes quieter, then stops. Taking that as a good sign, Martin makes his way back to the surface, gulping in fresh air. Feed Pakka first, then try and get him a better habitat. Martin isn't stupid; they won't be able to just set him free, or he might go on a rampage. Any sane dragon would if they had been dishonored and tortured like that. 

"It's bad," he tells Nitram, hunching over on his knees. "So much worse than I thought it would be."

Nitram glances over at Jeremiah, then back down to Martin.  _He needs to leave._

Martin nods and straightens up, turning to Jeremiah. "Go get that terraformer. And several plant-magic angels, and then some chickens. Live."

"I-uh, Yes sir." Jeremiah bows and hurries to the warp. He jabs in coordinates, then hops through.

Martin goes to one of the trees, gripping the trunk. He tugs, but hisses and grabs his chest. "Nitram, can you-"

Nitram comes up beside him, grabbing the tree and hauling towards the opening. "How are they going to safely terraform without him attacking?"

"Not sure. We'll open more holes, but not big enough for him to fit through. Maybe if we raise the walls into a crater shape, and reform this platform..." Martin gathers a few apples from the tree Nitram his dragging, then hurries to catch up to his brother. "Then we open a hole and let him climb up. The shield will keep him in, but he'll have free air and space."

Nitram nods. Martin knows that he wants to just set Pakka free. They both want to. But they also both know that Pakka would rampage immediately. "It's so...  _bad_ , Nitram."

"We'll fix it."

They get to the hole and Nitram turns the tree around, waiting for Martin to descend, before pushing it down the stairs.

Martin watches it fall. Pakka's sharp rattling makes him turn. "Hey, no, it's food. Don't worry, Nitram won't come down if you don't want him to, okay?"

Pakka shifts in the dark, grey scales blending perfectly in with the rest of the stone. He ventures closer, sniffing suspiciously. Martin holds out an apple, standing near the outer branches of the tree. Pakka comes up to him, then grabs the apple from his hand, swallowing it down in two crunches. He pushes his nose closer, trying to get the one under his arm. Martin holds back a laugh -  _"Never laugh at dragons, son," his dad had said once when he was little and nearly had his hair burned off because of making fun of a hatchling. "They hate it. Only laugh with them."_ \- and lets Pakka grab it.

Martin goes to the tree and plucks another apple from it, holding it out. Pakka bounds over, snapping it up from him, then going for the trees. He rummages through it, pausing every once in a while to feast on the fruit. 

Deciding he better go back up to see if the workers are there, Martin leaves Pakka to eat. Thankfully, the group he'd requested are there, along with an extra terraformer.

Introductions are slow, but he sits through them. The terraformers are two older women, Taya and Oitya. Four farmers, one toting along a net full of chickens. He relays the plan, gesturing at a few different places where he thinks some things should go. "And Jeremiah, get, uh, god what was his name, Nitram?"

"Who?"

"Baki's dad. The lake-maker." Martin snaps his fingers, trying to remember. He glances around to find the rest of the workers already starts, filling in dirt and holes. Pakka probably won't be happy with the sudden darkness, but it should be worth it. 

"Oh! Byaruk," Nitram says, then turns to Jeremiah, already requesting for the angel to be alerted and brought by.

Figuring his work is mostly done, Martin heads back down the stairs. The tree is in tatters, leaves scattered around the ground. He hears bark snapping and crunching in the dark. "Pakka? Hey, we're gonna-"

Pakka rushes, suddenly, jumping and tensing against a wall, only to pounce towards Martin.

He bites back a yell as the dragon tackles him to the ground. Martin can't hold back the yelp of pain, though, and he hears Nitram's concerned shout, but can't concentrate enough to tell him everything's good.

Pakka is sniffing at him, nosing at his chest. Martin reaches up, placing a hand on the good side of his face. "Pakka- O-off, please," he hisses, and Pakka freezes. Then noses at his chest some more. 

"I- Yeah, I'm hurt a bit," Martin says, trying to sit up. Pakka shifts back to sit his forepaws on his legs. "You can't, god, you can't tackle like that, okay? Most people will think you're attacking."

Pakka huffs and gets up, but keeps his head lowered. Martin uses his antler and pulls himself up, waving towards Nitram, who's standing up near the top of the stairs. Pakka, thankfully, hasn't noticed his brother. Nitram quickly disappears back upstairs. 

Martin moves to sit down on a clear spot of the rock, surprised that he's gotten somewhat used to the stench. He tries not to think about it. So long as he ignores it, he doesn't think about how Pakka has been trapped in here his  _whole life._

Taking a steadying breath, he watches Pakka race back towards the dark, only to come back out with a half-eaten apple. He drops it in Martin's lap, then goes back and starts chewing on the log again.

"Uh. Thanks," he says, picking up the slobbery apple. Any gift from a dragon is precious, but...

Martin glances back up to find a large eye glinting at him from the dark. Great, okay, Pakka is watching. He digs his claws into the apple, peeling the outer layer of slobber and grime away, then pulls off a piece to eat. Pakka goes back to chewing, seemingly content.

Sighing, Martin slowly starts to rise, whistling. Pakka snakes over to him, head tilting to view him with his good eye. Martin  _really_ hopes that won't hinder Pakka in the wild. God knows Martin won't be able to keep him in this crater for the rest of his life... "I'm just going up to check on progress, okay? I'll probably try and help, so it might be a while."

Pakka lets out a few clicks and curls in a bundle, the half-eaten log still gripped in his forepaws. Martin leaves him be, rising up onto the top level. Surprised, he looks around to find the walls already mostly molded. Dirt and grass cover what was once bare rock, a good handful of feet deeper than he had seen it last. 

Nitram is helping shove the last wall up but is too preoccupied to notice Martin.

Jeremiah, unfortunately, does.

"Sir! Things are going smoothly. We couldn't find the lake-maker you mentioned, but I hired Venali. He helped carve the Hanging Gardens, and-"

Martin raises a hand, peering around the small group of workers until he finds a man sitting down in a gulley, carving sigils into the bottom of it. Martin chooses to ignore Jeremiah, instead, he starts heading over to the lip of the small pond. He frowns, noticing the depth is nowhere near big enough. "It will have to be deeper," he calls. "Venali, right?"

Venali looks up, shading his eyes against the sun with a hand. Shorts aren't something angels usually wear, and neither are the boots that go most of the way up his legs. Finally seeming to recognize Martin, he bends in a quick bow and says, "Sorry, sir, I wasn't sure how big. Do you have any specific measures in mind?"

Deep enough to let Pakka swim around, but Martin doesn't exactly know how big that is. "Is there any way to drop it down to the bottom layer?"

"Uh- The- The dragon is there, sir," Jeremiah whispers as if Martin had forgotten. 

Resisting the urge to sigh and pinch his nose, Martin turns and pins the man with a glare. Really, is he surrounded by  _idiots_? "I understand that. I'll distract him while the terraformers dig down. Put walls down before you do anything, and Pakka won't even be able to get to you." Turning back to Venali, he nods. "That sound good?"

"If I get paid more," Venali mutters under his breath. It's not quite low enough; Martin scowls at him but decides to leave it be.

Heading back to the steps, he can't help but become more annoyed as Jeremiah stumbles along behind him, trying to get him to stop, and talk, if only for a minute-

Martin whirls around and everyone's wings nearby  _rattle_. "Jeremiah, for the love of god. I am injured, and tired, and  _pissed_. Say one more  _damn_ word, and I'm ripping your wings off your back and throwing you over the edge."

Jeremiah goes very, very pale. He opens his mouth, probably to protest, and Martin is one second from snapping all the wires in his wings. But then Nitram puts his hand on his shoulder, and says, "Leave, Jeremiah. You are not needed here right now."

Martin looks away as Jeremiah bows low, then flutters off. He catches Nitram's eye-  _Calm down, things will be better soon_.

He nods and steps back towards the stairs. "Go on," he shouts, and he can practically imagine everyone's flinch. "I want this shit done by sunset."

[...]

Pakka is incredibly unhappy as his enclosure becomes smaller and smaller, to accommodate what's going on above his head. Martin sits with him, tossing the stick ever so often, and just talking to him. Eventually, Pakka wraps around him, hissing up at the ceiling every time a rock crumbles. When Martin tries to get up to go check on progress, Pakka hisses and squeezes closer. Martin eventually resigns himself to just sitting there.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knows, Pakka moves and Martin hits the ground. He scrambles to his feet, whistling for the dragon. 

There's a shout and a thump, and his stomach sinks. "Nitram! Hey, Pakka, Pakka it's okay- He's-"

Nitram isn't screaming. He's trying to shove Pakka's nose away, yes, but he's also trying not to laugh. It comes out as breathless huffs, then a groan as Pakka steps down on his stomach. Martin reaches up and grabs Pakka's good antler, pulling him away. "Pakka, I said no  _tackling_. That- Someone might not like that-"

Pakka growls at him and twists his head to gently put his teeth over Martin's wrist. Martin shakes him off and offers a hand to Nitram.

"Pakka, right?" Nitram asks, bowing, and Pakka snorts curiously at him. "I'm Martin's brother, Nitram."

Setting a calming hand on the side of Pakka's neck, Martin glances upward to find that all the holes had been filled and, and the roof had been drastically lowered. "Is it finished?"

"That's why I cam down here. Everybody's already gone, and I made sure to tell Jeremiah to go again."

"He came back?"

"Sadly. With news, though. Your order was put through. They should be coming home soon." Nitram reaches out a hand to Pakka, but the dragon shies away. He lets it drop, then turns and starts opening the steps wider, so Pakka could fit through. Dirt drops down. 

"That's good. How are people taking it?" Martin takes a few steps after him, then turns and waves for Pakka to follow. The dragon growls, unsure, but slowly, hesitantly, starts clambering up after them.

"As well as you can imagine, I believe. He... didn't really say. Oh, uh- Seto's up there, be careful."

Martin mutters a swear and stops, then turns to Pakka. "Hey, my, uh, family, is up there, okay? Just one kid. He's never seen a dragon before, so, uh-"

But Pakka gets a whiff of the outdoor air and surges forward, scrambling past both of them. Nitram curses and hurries up, raising the rest of the stairs and sealing the cavern. They hear a shriek and Martin looks out, taken aback at how much it had transformed. Trees grow in a thick ring, obscuring a big part of the crater, leaving a field. The lake sits along one edge, partially obscured by the tree trunks and cattails.

Seto is crouched by a tree, holding very, very still as Pakka rushes around the open space.

In the light of the setting sun, Martin has to bite back more curses as he finally sees how bad of a shape Pakka really is.

What should have been glossy black scales are grey and dull, flaking off. His wings are stumpy, way too small for how big he is. He would probably easily sit in their living room. 

What draws Martin's attention are the extra pair of legs, which he hadn't noticed at first. Six legs, and a pair of wings. He glances over at Nitram, finding that his brother is along the same train of thought. Aelaya's clutches usually had six legs, a gene passed down from their family line. 

Pakka doesn't give Seto a glance. Instead, he hurries to the lake and dips his head under, then slithers all the way in. He disappears for a moment and Martin waves Seto over. The kid quickly gets up, casting glances ever so often at the water whenever Pakka resurfaced. "I've- He's, uh, a bit smaller than I thought."

"He's young. But still shouldn't be that small," Martin says and Seto pales slightly. 

"How big do they usually get?" he asks, warily keeping an eye out on the lake. 

Nitram laughs slightly and glances over at the lake. His smile quickly falls. "Twice that size."

"But- He's- He's already almost as long as a school bus," Seto mutters, earning weird looks from both angels. "Uh, a, uh, car."

Martin and Nitram share a glance. _Any idea? / Ask later._

Seto waves the topic off. Martin has seen his fair share of cars, mostly with red and blue lights on the tops of them, but he doesn't think Nitram ever has seen one. "Well, you too can head on home. I'm probably going to stick around for a bit."

"Wings?" Nitram asks, one hand on Seto's shoulder to start guiding him to the warp, hidden in a small alcove in the rock. Martin shakes his head. "Won't need them."

Obviously unhappy at the answer, but not willing to argue, Nitram takes Seto back through the warp. Pakka rushes up from the lake, bounding over to sniff Martin up and down.

"They- No, they didn't hurt me," he says, pushing his nose away. "Don't worry. Let's see about getting you cleaned, huh?"

Pakka doesn't like that idea. 

And Martin, currently, can't swim. So Martin spends the majority of the next hour yelling at Pakka to get out of the water. The dragon only raises his head to chortle at him, then ducks back under until he needs to breathe again. 

Figuring he might as well let Pakka enjoy himself, Martin sits down on the rocky shore, wincing as it jostles his injuries. He glances around once, decides that nobody's going to go anywhere  _near_ here, with the dragon out of the cave, and then slowly starts peeling his shirt off. He glances down and mumbles a curse at the blue stains on it. Damn it, he hadn't noticed them bleeding through. He pulls the pins off from the wraps, slowly tugging them away from his skin. 

Once freed, Martin drops them to the side, gently moving his fingers around the few gouges that haven't fully healed. It's warm, but not feverish. They look healthy. Well, as healthy as they could get. But no infection. 

Summoning scraps of magic, Martin passes a hand over the worst one-

_Nathaniel's hissing laugh, the sword through his chest, the blood gurgling in his lungs, his throat, clotting and blocking any way to get air inside his body. He wants to cough, choke, spit everything up, but he can't move, can't see, can't-_

Pakka bumps his shoulder. Martin snaps back to reality, shaking his head and sitting up straight. The dragon is curled around him in heaps of warm scales. Martin sets a hand on his neck, feeling over the sopping mane. "Yeah, sorry. Zoned out there."

From the looks of it, Pakka doesn't really believe him. He snuffles at Martin's hair, then snorts and lays his head down on Martin's lap, effectively trapping him in a circle.

"I need to teach you how to speak," Martin mutters, earning a sideways look from Pakka. His good ear flicks backward, listening. "You can obviously understand me, so he couldn't have stolen your egg too long before you hatched."

A growl rips from Pakka's throat and the dragon shifts, restless. Martin lets him get up and points towards the woods. "I had some chickens released in there. Maybe a few have laid some eggs."

That's all the incentive Pakka needs to race off, wings spreading for a second to help him glide. He drops down into the underbrush and disappears, green-grey scales blending in perfectly with the shade and foliage. Martin watches after him for a second, before sighing and gathering his things. He painfully tugs the shirt back on, deciding he'll get Nitram to help him with the wrappings. It takes him a handful of minutes to even beginning to think about getting up. When he does, he nearly hisses and falls over. He would have if Pakka hadn't suddenly been at his side.

"God, thanks," he mutters, hating how his knees shake. He needs to go home, and  _rest_. He doesn't want to, but he needs to. He glances down at Pakka, who's licking feathers from his tusks. "I gotta go, though, okay?"

Pakka stares at him for a moment, ear swiveling forward. He seems to think, then he growls and shows his teeth. Martin swats him on the nose and starts heading toward the warp. "I'll be back tomorrow, alright? If you get hungry, there's some fish in the lake, and the chickens- Well, if there are any left."

As he walks, Pakka keeps pace, and then suddenly springs in front of him before he reaches the carved room where the warp is. He plants the top of his head against Martin's legs and starts pushing. 

Martin stumbles back, grabbing his horn to keep balanced. "No, Pakka, I need to leave."

He gets whining as an answer, and Pakka raises up on his four feet to try and grab at him with his first two. It works, for a second. Then Martin twists out of his grip and lets Pakka fall back down. Dragons aren't bipedal, they can't hold themselves up like that for long. "I'm hurt. And tired. I need to rest, so I can actually come back tomorrow."

Hissing and spitting, Pakka stalks around him, raising a wing to try and push Martin to the ground, as if inviting him to lay down by his side. Martin ducks out from under it, trying not to show how bad he feels when Pakka whines again. 

On his fifth try at leaving, only to be blocked again, Martin pretends to give up. He sighs and starts to move as if to sit down. Pakka gives him a second, still staring intently. Waiting for him to actually sit down. Shit. Martin  _was_ going to sprint for it the moment the dragon's attention lapsed. 

Martin sighs and finally sits down, resigning himself to living the rest of his life with the clingy dragon. He's sure Nitram wouldn't mind.

Pakka chirps and curls about him, head once again dropping onto Maritn's lap. Leaning back against sun-warmed fur and scales, Martin stares up at the sky. He can be patient. It might take a few hours, but he can be patient.

[...]

He wakes up to someone poking him wit ha stick. Martin's instinctive reaction is to move to grab it and poke back, but the moment he opens his eyes, he feels Pakka's snores rumbling through the body curled around him.

Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he glances to his left to find Seto standing there. Nitram is a few paces behind him, arms crossed. 

"You were late to dinner, so we came to get you home," Seto whispers, nervously glancing down at Pakka. He quietly drops the long stick onto the ground.

Martin glances down at the piles of scales laying across him. Nitram scoffs and shakes his head, stepping close enough to help Martin up. Carefully, Martin pries away from the dragon. It takes a few too many minutes; he has to go very still every time Pakka even so much as breathes heavy. There is  _no_ way Martin is waking him up, not when he doesn't know if the dragon will go for Nitram or Seto, or not let him go home.

Finally, they're stepping through the warp. Feeling guilty about just leaving him there, but relieved to get to the smithing island, he makes a mental note to bring some sort of treat the next day. "He wouldn't let me leave," he explains as they head over the bridge. Seto glances back from his spot at the front of the line. (Just in case either of them falls, Nitram stays at the back.) 

"Do you think he imprinted on you?" Nitram asks, reaching out to steady Martin by the shoulder when he wobbles a bit too much.

"Maybe. He understands me, at least, so I don't think it could have been too long before he hatched that Nathaniel got him."

"So he at least knows the importance of his name," Nitram muses, earning another confused glance from Seto.

Before he can even ask, Martin explains, "Dragons can hear what's going on outside when they're in the egg. For the most part, anyway. Well, we think. The moms usually talk to them, tell them stories and shit."

"So they can  _speak_?"

"Most do," Nitram answers, words clipped, "Feral ones don't."

Martin tries not to think about how lucky he'd gotten. Any longer, and he wasn't sure if Pakka would have kept holding on to whatever sanity he had. He shakes his head and changes the subject quickly by asking about dinner. It didn't happen, so he doesn't have to think about it. He'll count his blessings.

God knows he has so few.

[...]

It's midway through the second journal he's decoding when he flips a page and a folded piece of paper falls out from behind the next few. Pausing, Martin glances down at it, then across the room to where Seto is sitting, idly reading a downloaded book on his kindle. The fireplace crackles quietly to ward off the dropping temperatures outside. Nitram is probably in his room, or bathing, or somewhere else. 

Taking the old pages up, Martin frowns at the folds. A warding sigil is printed on the outside, along with a few he doesn't recognize. They're old and smeared, and the magic is gone. Assuming it's safe to open it, Martin slowly pulls it apart, taking his time in case the magic still lingers. Thankfully, nothing tries to get him, so he unfolds it all the way. Yet another slip of paper falls out, with the same sigils stamped on it. Figuring it's safe, he opens that one as well. Studying them next to each other leads him to believe it's two different people, with how the handwriting is different. A letter and it's response.

A glance over it makes him raise an eyebrow. It doesn't seem to be coded at all, and is written in plain eastern. The bigger piece of paper isn't from Kerberos; her handwriting is smaller, more precise. 

He looks at the smaller letter and nods to himself, reading over the first few lines.

_[... and yet despite it all, the Ground here is beautiful. An untouched, raw kind of beautiful. Most of the civilization over here is affected horribly by the angels above. They don't seem to care, Mom. I know why I'm here, and I'll carry out my job, but I just wish the King would go and... Do something, I guess. We all knew this was happening, just not to the extent that I've seen it.]_

_[But in other news, by the gods do I miss your cooking. I have no skill at all, and can't make much more than ramen. Maybe a few sandwiches, but I keep forgetting to buy cheese, so it's really only meat and bread. How is Inava? She hasn't written for a while.]_

He skips down, eyes skimming for anything useful. If not, he'll just translate it and hand it over to Seto. Or give it to him and let him figure it out. He knows Nitram has been teaching him, and the handwriting is easy to read. It should be a good lesson-

_[... but I've made a terrible mistake. I think I've fallen in love.]_

Stomach sinking for some reason, Martin grips the page, only releasing it when he isn't sure if it's still safe in his hands. He momentarily thinks about handing it over to Seto, letting the kid translate it as much as he's able. (Because, god damn, is he  _smart_.)

But he quickly shakes the thought from his head. If he knows anything, it's that Seto probably needs something to be angry at. It's only in their nature, really. They're a fighting species, as a whole, east or west. And with mixed blood like Seto's...

He glances over at the kid, who is still enraptured by his book. Martin slowly folds both letters up and sticks them back in the book. He'll read through them both later. Out of sight from prying, curious eyes.

A door slams upstairs and Martin flinches. Seto looks up as well and they both watch as Nitram, grumbling, goes to the clothes washer. 

He and Seto share a glance. Martin shrugs, looking back at his decoded papers. He leans his elbow on the armrest, pinching his nose. Rubbing the corners of his eyes, he glances back down at the books. A headache is coming on, but he really has nothing else to do. Dinner is already had and cleaned, he had a shower earlier that morning, and there's literally nothing he could do in the forge without tearing something. So it's either this, or sleep, or... Sit around.

With a sigh and a groan, Martin gets up. "Alright, kid, I'm heading to bed. Go to sleep at a reasonable time."

He gets a distracted hum for his efforts. Seto doesn't look up even when he passes by, but he makes a noise of complaint when Martin ruffles his hair out of style. He heads for his room, shutting the door behind him. After a long moment, Martin sighs, sitting down on his bed. Fingers tapping on the mattress, he glances over the blankets. He'll have to remake the nest. Last night had only held nightmares, which ended up with most of the blankets being kicked off. Damn it.

Rubbing tired eyes, Martin leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. After a minute, though, it starts to hurt. So he stands up and goes to the closet. Right. Everything's done, there won't be any visitors for the rest of the night, Seto's- probably going to go to bed in a few hours. Nitram's probably going to drink himself into a coma soon if he hasn't started already.

He makes a mental note to try and put a stop to his brother's alcohol tendencies. He had purposefully ignored the bottles scattered around the living room when they first got home, hoping Nitram would work out his own problems.

He probably won't. Knowing him. Martin feels  _guilty_ for a second, knowing Nitram's problems had all been made by Martin's own hand.

Shaking the thoughts away, he grabs the small, wooden box kept in the pocket of the suit he never uses and then he goes to the window. It creaks as he opens it and, gritting the box between his teeth, he swings out onto the vines climbing the side of the house. The wind rips at him, promising a chill death if he were to fall. He doesn't cast a glance down at the drop below him. After all, his room, as all of them are, is situated on the very precipice of the island. If there was ever an emergency, all they had to do was pop on a pair of wings and leap through the glass.

Considering recent events, though, he needs to make sure the wings won't get jammed by fucking  _glass shards_. Then again, the windows in the Arena's building have wire through them. It's supposed to prevent breakage, but...

He's heaving for air by the time he reaches the rooftop. God damn it, he's been wasting away in beds and inside for the past... what, month and a half? It's horrible for his health, and he knows without even looking that his injuries have visibly taken a toll on him.

By the time he slumps onto the slanted tile roof, one foot planted firmly on the chimney to make sure he won't slide, he drops the box into his hand and slides the top of it off. He has to hand it to the kid. How he managed to get a hold on marijuana, of all things, is a mystery. It's easier to grow than tobacco, to be sure. But both drugs are a dying thing.

Martin picks up the long cigarette, studying the periwinkle plant wrapped in the paper. Silverwillow, in and of itself, isn't necessarily great for anything except to calm a dragon's headspace. Soaked in astymmas, dried, then packed and rolled, though... 

Nitram's rule is not to smoke in the house. Simon hates it, Martin knows, but the cigarettes are only addictive over time if used continuously. Once in a while, though, it can be a nice high for a boring night.

The moment he lights the first one, though, his brother pokes his head up over the rooftop's edge. He clambers the rest of the way up, wings fluttering slightly. They ring like bells. "How did you get up here?"

"Same way you did," Martin replies, puffing smoke between his words. "Figured you'd already be drinking yourself to sleep."

"I've slowed down," Nitram lies. Martin raises an eyebrow, noticing the lingering  _Mostly_ written in the downward twitch of his lips.

"Sure." He lights another silverwillow cigarette with a snap and a bit of flame and then hands it to his brother. 

Nitram sits beside him, pinions dug into worn-down grooves to keep him from sliding. They've been up here too many times to count. Alone, or together. Martin's spot is by the chimney, Nitram's is to his left. 

They're silent for a long time. Martin's fingers are already starting to go slightly numb. They stare up at once-unfamiliar, but now memorized, stars. 

Eventually, though, Nitram says, "I have, though. Especially since Seto's living here now."

"I know." The smoke that plumes from his breath is blue, curling up and dissipating. 

Nitram kicks a leaf off the tiles in front of him and changes the subject. "How bad do you think Pakka is?"

"... Not too far gone, I don't think. I'm going to try to teach him to speak."

"His speech will be hindered for the rest of his life. Living so long without even breathing a word..." Nitram trails off and pulls from the last of the cigarette. Snuffs it out on the roof, then flicks it out into the open air. 

Martin lights two more. He didn't think this through; already, he's getting somewhat dizzy. Feeling lighter, less pained... "I'm determined," he says, handing Nitram the next one. He takes a drag, exhales in a sigh, and then mutters, "I'll try, at least."

They drop back into the silence. The wind makes Nitram's wings chime. Martin wants to fly again. He doesn't like being so... vulnerable. No angel has the fear of falling in them. Even fledglings don't; they always have an adult with them, if they're outside. Nobody fears of falling. Nobody  _should_. 

But he's fallen once, already. And now, if he does again, he can't just swoop out of the dive. 

"If I fall," he says suddenly, looking up quickly at Nitram. His head swims and he has to blink the comforting fog from his vision. "If I fall, Kaizen..."

Nitram meets his eyes. "I'll catch you."

_We are all we've got._

But that's wrong, Martin thinks and knows his brother sees it in his eyes. They have Seto, now, just as much as the kid has them. Family. Not as close as they could be, altogether. But still,  _family_.

"I'll catch him, too," Nitram whispers, and turns back to look at the stars. Martin nods, looking away as well.

But a moment passes. The thought eats at the back of his head, wriggling until he lets it spill. "Catch him first."

"What?" This earns a startled,  _fearful_ look. "Lazarus, I-"

"If it comes down to one of us. Catch _him_  first, Kaizen."

Silence settles. One beat, two, and on the third, Nitram nods.  


	23. i just want to turn the lights on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title taken from 'volatile times' by IAMX

"They're one of your best pairs yet," Nitram murmurs, unfurling one of the silver-white wings from where it's hanging on a hook. In the oil lamp's light, they practically glitter.

Martin has the other half to the pair spread on a cloth on the table. He glances up from the carvings he's already lining in. The finished half, the one Nitram is currently looking over, already has all its sigils drawn on it. "Very powerful magic here, Martin, are you sure you're not exerting yourself?"

His brother sighs. Puts the pencil down and leans his head into his gloved hand. "Yeah, Nitram, I'm fine. I don't have much else to do anyway."

"Sleep, maybe. Rest, and heal."

Martin barks a laugh, shaking his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, which is still sticking sideways because of an unfortunately-placed lick from Pakka. Dragon spit doesn't wash out very easily. It also works surprisingly well as glue. 

When it's clear Martin isn't going to argue, Nitram turns back to the wing hanging on its hook. He pulls it down, reaching for the feathers and setting them in the sling so he can view it sideways. "A thumb-hook?" he questions, spreading out the first few primaries so he can get a good look at the hook. Very few angels ever want wings without feathers. Sure, they've done webbed ones before, but even those don't usually have the hook on the wrist, as an actual bat's wing would. 

"Figured the kid would want to be able to cling to something if he hit it." Martin doesn't look up from his carving, but he does stop moving the blade. Nitram glances back towards the hook, measuring it against his hand. It's maybe twice as long, with a strong claw at the end of it. Nitram glances over to his own pairs of wings, zeroing in on a pale set in the corner. He walks over, partway unfolding one wing.

"I haven't used hooks for a while," he muses, running his hands over the thumb-hook on the wing. Bending it makes him wince; it needs to be oiled, badly. But he can't use this pair, anyway. They were the ones he'd fled with, and with his ports being redone, the sockets can't fit anymore.

"We'll make a new pair," Martin suggest, always the one to push forward. Nitram gives the pair of wings one last longing glance before carefully folding them away. 

"Yes, I suppose we can always do that. The next pair I make, I'll put the hooks on-"

The bells on the door ring. They both share a glance.  _Who would be here?_

Martin shakes his head.  _Wasn't expecting visitors._

It's well past sunset. Their warp isn't active, so whoever is here  _flew_.

Nitram quietly unsheaths the featherblades on his wings, heading for the workshop space. No sign of movement. The lantern hanging in the corner only gives off dim light, but it's plenty enough for Nitram to see around. Martin comes up beside him, casting a hard look around the workspace. He continues on to the front. Nitram bites back a curse and hurries to catch up, staying on his toes to lessen any noise. 

"Hello? Is, um, is anyone here?"

A fledgling. Well, probably not. Young, but old enough to fly. But they sound much, much younger than fifty. Nitram shares a glance with Martin then pushes open the door.

The boy jumps back, wings rattling as they mantle slightly. The sight of them alone makes Nitram uneasy. They're old and rusted, obviously not taken care of. They're a dirty, muddled brown, but on second look it's as if staining oil has been smeared over them.

The kid drops into a short bow, hands folded in front of him. Nitram's thought seems to be proven correctly; his hands are stained black-brown, as well as a few spots of his blond hair.

"Who are you?" Martin asks, eyeing the kid's shabby appearance. No shoes, very little clothes... Nitram shivers. A fledgling this young should still be under his parents' care, and-

"I'm Ethan," he says, standing back up. His eyes are a bloody red, darker than Nitram's own, and ringed with sickly jade green. Nitram grabs Martin's shoulder upon seeing them and backs them away a few feet.

"A blood-drinker," Nitram hisses, and Ethan quickly looks away. He shudders into another bow, wings trying to fold as close as they can to make him look smaller. 

"Please, I- I need help."

Martin shrugs his hand off. Ethan glances back up, eyes flicking between the two of them. They don't glow like they should. He seems sick, pale and thin. Not eating right. His gaze drifts to Nitram as he speaks. "Me and- and a few other kids, we. We're trying to, to um."

"Spit it out."

Ethan flinches back and his eyes go straight back to Martin. "We're dying," he says, and his voice takes on a pleading tone. Nitram shifts uncomfortably. "We- We can't eat normal food like you guys do, and- And they just _dump_ us off on an island near the junk ones, and we- We're told we have to survive, on our own, and there are a few birds sometimes, but we can't  _eat_ those, or we'll get sick, and-"

"I know how it works," Martin says. "You say you're just kids?"

"I'm only twenty-five," Ethan whispers, still hunched in on himself. "I- The doctor sent me your way, he said you might be able to help-"

"Baki? Why would he send you to me? Why were you there in the first place?"

Ethan swallows and shifts back a couple inches, toes curling in the cold. "One of us needed wings. We can't leave our island, and- And the birds that come by just aren't  _enough_." His voice cracks. He looks close to tears. "Amy's already- she's sick. I- I managed to sneak off the island, and I got to Baki, and he gave me the ports, and-"

"How long ago?" Nitram asks, eyebrows drawing down. Nothing about this situation is alright.

"Just a few days."

Martin mutters a curse and looks away. Nitram shifts again, eyes dropping to the floor. Hell, the poor kid must be in pain. Seto had been mostly healed when they left the hospital, and only had a few more days until he could get his wings on, but he's still wincing and groaning as if he'd just gotten out of surgery. 

It would explain Ethan's trembling. 

"Okay, so, let me get this straight," Martin says, obviously extending as much patience as he could muster. "You- You escaped from your island, and got to Baki. He did your surgery for free? And then you got these wings from... Somewhere. Then you came here?"

There were too many holes in that explanation. Nitram knows that Baki would have turned Ethan away. He can't get a good view of the ports, but Nitram could bet his wings on the fact that they weren't professionally done. 

And, under Martin's glaring scrutiny, Ethan curls in on himself, and says, "My friend did the surgery. We had an old pair of scrap things, and... And ports don't burn."

Shivers shoot through Nitram's spine and he stands upright. "Where did you get them?"

"A funeral pyre." Ethan unfolds his hands and flames flicker in his palms, weakly. "I- We're dying, I'm sorry, but we just- We had to do it, and-"

"Okay. Alright, alright." Martin passes Ethan, making the poor kid flinch. He shoves open the door and for a second, Nitram believes he's about to shove the vampire right out the building. "You shouldn't be flying yet. I'm surprised you're still standing. Nitram, call Baki here. If he can't get here, we'll go to him."

Nitram blinks. Then he nods and follows the two outside. He heads for the warp, typing in the familiar code. Casts a glance over his shoulder at where Martin is quickly leading Ethan up to the house, then steps through.

And runs into someone.

She yelps and stumbles backward, blinking rapidly. Nitram fully steps out of the warp, an apology already on his tongue, but he glances up at him and quickly types in her own coordinates, jumping through frantically.

Sighing, Nitram heads for the doors, wrinkling his nose at the uncomfortably familiar scent of sterilized rooms. "Baki," he calls, glancing around the lobby. "Hey, we-"

"He's not here right now," Simon says, stepping through the threshold of the room behind the desk. He shuts the door behind him. "I just sent that woman away."

"Where is he, then?"

Simon hikes up a shoulder. "Don't know. Tried to chase after some kid that came in earlier. Apparently, his port surgery went wrong, or something...?" He trails off and shrugs again. "I don't really know. All that doctor mumbo-jumbo. It's pretty bad, from what I understand."

"Ethan," Nitram mutters, and quickly thanks Simon on his way out. 

Hurrying back home, and coming through the warp, it's apparent Baki already beat him there. The glint of the white and red wings unmistakable, as well as the shrill whistling they make when he dives for their roof.

Nitram hops from the smithing island, meeting him at the door. "I was just looking for you."

"That kid's a dead angel walking," Baki hisses, shoving his way into the house. It earns a startled look from the three inside. "You guys get away from him." 

"What? Why?" Seto asks, but he backs up. Martin looks up from the vampire's back. The scrap wings are on the floor, discarded once it was clear that the rust on them would do the kid no good. 

Baki pushes Martin away from Ethan and glares down at the angel. "When your doctor tells you not to leave, you  _listen_ to him," he barks, slamming his bag down on the table, making Ethan flinch. "Do you know how bad that infection is on your back? Young man, you could rip your muscles out just by  _moving_. I'm surprised you're even awake. I couldn't count how many surgeries it might take to redo those on four hands. You are so, so lucky that my friends here are kind enough not to drop you off the edge of their island. I might not be much nicer if you decide to run off again."

"But my friends," Ethan protests, "They need help."

Baki grabs some small bottle from his bag. He uncorks it and, in a motion Nitram has seen many times before, grabs Ethan by the ear. When the kid opens his mouth to shout, Baki dumps the potion down his throat and then catches him the moment he slumps forward. 

Nitram shivers, catching Seto's fearful look out of the corner of his eye. Doctors are  _vicious_. 

Baki hefts the angel up over his shoulder, holding him with one arm as the other gathers his bag. "Thanks for keeping him for a bit. Nitram, will you come with me? Vampires go through potions too quickly for me to get him back here. He might struggle."

"Oh, uh, yeah." Nitram casts a glance back at the two before following Baki back to the smithing island. "He said he could teleport?"

"Yeah, he's already proven that. It's how he got out in the first place." Baki is  _pissed_. Nitram can practically hear the keypad crunching under his angry jabs. The warp hums to life. "I have to get these things out of his back. He won't be able to leave without those wings, I'm pretty sure he needs to know where he's going before he teleports."

This time, when they step through, there's no woman to run into. Most of the lights in the hospital are on. Nitram can see Simon moving around at the front desk as they briskly walk through the doors.

"Jin," Baki calls, "Room three ready, Nitram I need you in here with me. Shed your coat and shoes, wash your hands and arms in the sink."

Somewhat worried why  _he's_ needed for surgery, Nitram glances around room three, dropping his coat and shoes outside. He bites back a yelp when Jin all but shoves scrubs into his arms. The human rushes away, nearly running to catch up to Baki. He starts up the machines, unraveling a new IV tube while Baki drops Ethan on the bed, face-down. The vampire groans and shifts slightly.

"Paralytic," Baki mutters and, almost awed at the speed, Nitram watches as Jin hurries to the small cooler near the wall and pulls out a familiar box. Jin adds two of the needles to the IV drip bag. 

"Okay, Nitram," Baki says, and when the hell did he get his mask on? "If he starts moving, you're going to hold him down. And I need you to make a magic bubble  _solely_ around him. Can you do that?"

"Probably," Nitram mutters, hurrying over to stand on the other side of the operating table. He's just about to raise the bubble when a cracking noise makes him flinch and look up.

To give him credit, Baki doesn't look nearly as anxious as he probably is. The extra two arms are already grabbing on gloves, while his original pair is starting to cut around the right port. Somewhat squeamish, Nitram shakes his head and raises the magic shield, feeling for Ethan's wisps of magic. They roar lowly, like an untuned bass instrument, and he latches onto the sound, melding it with the continuous hum of his own. 

And then there is Baki's magic, a bright, ugly, vicious red, searing in with high shrieking like that of his wings in a dive.

The doctor hisses and shouts something. Nitram pries open one eye to find him reforming one of his hands. "Ignore mine, Nitram," he says evenly and goes back to what he'd been doing.

Taking a steadying breath, Nitram shuts his eye again, purposefully letting the vicious shrieking of Baki's magic to slide through the shield, passing in and out without any hindrance. He still isn't exactly sure why he needs to make the shield. Ethan is under the paralytic- 

"What about anesthesia?" Nitram asks suddenly. Baki scowls, and Nitram quickly goes back to listening to the careful tunes of the magic he has trapped. 

After a moment, though, Baki says, "That's what I used the first time. The kid teleported right out from under me. I don't think it works on him."

Nodding, Nitram turns his full attention back to the bubble, only to find Ethan's magic bursting against it, popping and fizzling like carbonation. Notes being smashed at random, and it  _hurts_ Nitram's ears. He sees Ethan's leg twitch, and then Baki calls at Jin for something. 

There's a thunk on a tray and Nitram looks up to find the first port already removed. He tries not to look at the bloody, infected mess that the kid's back is made up of. He closes his eyes, listening to the crackles of magic against his shield. Ethan's really putting up one hell of a fight. But Nitram is stronger, older, and Ethan's sick and weak.

Eventually, it's as if the kid gives up. The gurgling and howling of his magic fades into a pitiful whistling. It's good because Nitram can't keep concentrating on it, not with the periodic wails from Baki's passing through the shield. It's giving him a  _headache_. He's never heard magic like Baki's. And it's hard to just ignore it. He has to know where it is, to be able to let it pass through the shield.

He's not sure how long it takes before Baki gets the second port out. He zones out, only concentrating on the chorus of magic. He only stops when the loud wailing of Baki's magic gets too close, and then there's a touch on his shoulder.

"We're good. Go get cleaned up, I'm going to keep him here for a while, then send him back off."

"What, like, to his island?" Nitram slowly sits down in the chair nearby, rubbing his forehead. "Baki, he was just dumped there. Sure, he's a- A- But you can't just send him to his death again."

Baki lets out a long sigh and lowers himself onto the floor, pulling off his gloves and rubbing his eyes with clean hands. He drops the gloves to the side, which are quickly picked up by Jin. He still hasn't put away the extra two arms; he doesn't seem to notice them. 

"If I get you some ports, would you-?"

"Yeah, sure." A clipped answer, but still a yes. Nitram sighs a breath of relief, already thinking about what wings to make the poor kid. It won't fix anything, because if there are other kids on that island, then... "There are other fledglings on his island. They're dying."

"I don't run a  _charity_ ," Baki mutters. He glances up towards the bed, where Jin is quietly and carefully pulling off soiled sheets. "I'm not giving them all wings."

"Then what do we do?"

"That's something you need to ask your brother," Baki hisses, looking over at him. "He owns- He owns a  _lot_ , Nitram. I don't think you understand just how much. Junys owns most of the breeding programs and some croplands, and some of the other Generals have their own islands, but..."

He shakes his head and looks away from Nitram's gaze. "You'll figure something out."

[...]

It takes a few days for Ethan to wake up. When he does, Baki sends Simon through the warp, and he and Martin head over. Seto tags along, but they don't even realize it until they're in the doors of the hospital, and Simon's face crumples into disgust.

Martin twists around to look at Seto behind him and sighs. Nitram mutters something about having to go to the check-up with Baki, anyway. 

"So he's awake?" Martin asks Simon, frowning as the angel leads them down into the solitary rooms. At the far end of the hallway is the shrieking and wailing of two deathbell cases.

Simon shrugs, grunting, "Surprisingly. Baki can't seem to keep him under."

Baki suddenly comes out of the first room on their right, shutting the outside door. "Good, you're here. I couldn't keep him in a normal room; these keep magic in, though. One of you needs to talk to him."

"About what?" Martin asks, looking into the decontamination room. Nitram stands on his toes to look over Martin's head, surprised to find the other door open. Ethan is slumped in the far corner, almost out of view, piled in blankets. 

"He's convinced you'll help him. Since Nitram convinced  _me_ to give him new ports."

Seto ducks under them all, just barely able to peer into the small window. Nitram glances down at him, then over at Martin. "Baki, if you would give us a second."

Grumbling something under his breath about not taking any more favors from the two, Baki goes back upstairs.

_Can we even help him?_

Martin catches his look and shrugs.  _What are we supposed to do? We already took in one kid, we can't take in any more_ _._

No, that's definitely not an option. Nitram has nightmares about Seto falling off, through, and into, their island and others. He couldn't imagine the stress of having more than one fledgling running around. Their lives aren't slow enough for that. Between Martin's new responsibilities, and the fact that they're  _still_ behind on the smith projects-

"I'll talk to him," Seto decides, already pushing the door open. Before either of them could even start to protest, he shuts the door behind him. 

Ethan looks up, pulling back slightly. He bites something out, scowling. It quickly fades, though, and his eyes flick over to the window. After a long second, he looks away and sits up straight. The blankets are still bundled around him tightly, but when he moves, one falls off his shoulder, revealing blue-stained bandages.

Martin obviously sees these as well, because he scowls and backs away from the door. "I'm going to go talk to Baki. Stay here and make sure nothing happens."

"Sure thing," Nitram mutters, waiting for him to leave before he slides open the panel outside the door. He struggles to remember which button it is, then guesses and holds down the upper right one. 

"-don't know how to do this," Ethan says quietly. "There's seven of us, all together. We can't- We can't drink from each other, we still won't be getting everything from that."

"So, like, you're  _actually_ vampires?" Seto asks, leaning forward with something Nitram could only describe as morbid curiosity. "Do you hate garlic?"

"What's garlic?"

"Oh, uh... What about sunlight?"

"I mean, I burn easy..." Ethan trails off, and shrugs. "But I won't, like... die. Just a bad sunburn if I'm outside for a while."

"So you guys are at some remote island?" Seto changes the subject shifting to grab a stray blanket to pull over his shoulders. Nitram can see his shivering from the door. Ethan is trembling, as well, nearly vibrating in his spot. 

"It's near- Uh, have you ever been at the junkyard islands? It's... north of here, I think."

"I've been to, like, four different islands. Two of them were shopping trips, the arena and then this hospital, and then home." Seto shifts uncomfortably, tail whapping the side of his leg. 

Ethan glances down at it but doesn't ask. "They really keep you bubbled in, huh? Not even my mom kept me to the home-island. I still needed to, you know, go to school and see friends."

Seto twitches. "There's not much choice."

"Is it because of that?" Ethan asks, pointing behind Seto, where his tail moves out of sight. Nitram represses a sigh. Fledglings like to get to the point and have no class in it...

"And a few other things." Seto reaches up, tugging at the beanie he'd started to wear. Underneath the hat, his horns don't show. It looks somewhat lumpy, but it could be explained away by his hair. But without it, even with his hair sticking up in all directions, the two black horns are painfully obvious.

"Huh. I've never met an easterner. What's it like over there?"

"I'm from the Ground, actually," Seto says, and starts explaining. Ethan listens with rapt attention. They go back and forth for a bit, and wit hevery second, Nitram's paranoia eases slightly. They're just kids, talking. Ethan isn't some double-edged sword, ready to report their secrets to... Well. It's not like there's anybody higher than Martin to report them to, save for Brian. And  _he_ already knows.

Martin comes up next to him, looking through the window. He casts a glance at Nitram, raising an eyebrow. Nitram puts a finger to his lips and nods back to the window, still listening in.

"So your mom was an angel, though?" Ethan asks, confused. "How did you get up here?"

"Martin crashed into my fence. I think he said something about a shard of glass getting jammed in his wing. He's really cranky when he can't fly, I... I guess I can understand, now, but he acted like a child sometimes."

Nitram hides his snicker. Martin doesn't really hide his embarrassed flinch. Ethan manages to laugh but winces when it jars his back. He curls a hand closer to himself, hunching slightly.

"But, you know, we took him in, and..." Seto trails off, then shrugs, tail flicking back and forth again. "Things happened. Now I'm here. You said your mom still brought you out, so why are you at that one island?"

"We usually get abandoned before we're twenty," Ethan says. "My parents dropped me there when I was fourteen. Kovil, our youngest, is only ten. Then there's Keerla who's his cousin actually, Jax, Luket, Zale, Amy, and then me."

"Wow. And you guys are all just living on some island? Do you even have a house?"

"Yeah, actually! We used to sleep under the tree roots, but recently we just finished a shelter. Mostly from scraps we got from the junkyard, but we don't have much time to hop between the islands like that, because they float away. Maybe one day we'll find some way to chain them, or something..." Ethan pauses, as if collecting his thoughts. He looks sad for a second. "Amy's actually our other scavenger. She, Zale, and me are the only ones old enough. Amy got sick, though. I... I got Zale to do the first surgery on my back, after we managed to get them. We found the wings from one of the junk islands-"

Martin grabs Nitram's hand from the button, cutting off the speakers for a moment. "Seto's a fucking genius."

"What? Why?"

"He's trying to make us feel bad for Ethan." Martin glances over at Nitram, then back to the room. "He knows we're listening, Nitram."

Well, Seto's plan is  _working_. The longer Nitram stands there and listens to them, the more awful he feels about the situation. "What do we do, Martin? We can't just take in seven vampiric children. And nobody's going to want to adopt them, either. You know that."

"... What about adding an island nearby?" Martin asks quietly. "We brign one over near our place, and-"

"And do you really want a band of thieves to live near us? Anything not nailed down in the house would be  _gone_."

Seto's tail twitches and Ethan glances over for a second, brow furrowing. Nitram backs away from the door and pulls Martin with him, lowering his voice.

"They're kids," Martin says. "They're desperate. Don't you remember how it was, Nitram?"

Oh, he did  _not_ \- "Do. Not. Pull that card on me.  _Yes_ , I remember how it was. But we- We're only eastern, Martin. We could hide. These kids  _can't_."

"And that's why we should help them!" Martin looks away from Nitram, making sure he can't read his expression. "Besides. It's not like we're letting them into our house. We'll- We'll keep the smith locked up, and we'll keep their island on the opposite side. Nowhere near the house."

"Okay, so. We have them a place to live. What are they going to eat, Martin? I'm not- I'm not offering up my neck whenever one's a bit thirsty."

"Blood drives, maybe?"

Martin takes one look at Nitram's deadpan expression, then shakes his head. "Maybe they can have animal blood. Ethan mentioned something about that. Cattle will work. We'll give them a farm to take care of."

"Great, so now we're going to have seven possibly-thieving, farming, vampiric children. That sounds logical."

"Do you want to help them or not?" Martin bites, turning around to fully face him. "I know things are fucked up, Nitram, but these are kids. And they're dying. Look at Ethan, I could probably fit my thumb and finger around his middle."

Nitram shifts from foot to foot, crossing his arms. "It's not that I don't want to help, I just... Martin, what happens when Muran gets here? What if the worst-case scenario happens? The life we give those kids will come tumbling down. And I don't think I want to put anybody through that sort of situation. I don't want to give them a home only for it to be swept out from under their feet."

He looks up and meets Martin's gaze. There's the ever-present  _I'm sorry_ there, but then beneath that, in the thinning of Martin's lips, in the way his ears move just slightly, as if the rest of them were still there to swivel, Nitram sees the  _But I'm still going to help them._

"Okay. Fine." Nitram shakes his head, stalking off to go talk to Baki. Let Martin deal with the children since he seems to have such a soft spot for every single one.

The doctor looks up from something on the desk, raising an eyebrow at Nitram's expression. "He talked you into it?"

"Into what?"

"He said something about bringing a new island closer to yours," Simon says from where he's lounging in the desk chair, idly flipping through a newspaper. He folds it and tosses it onto the desk, ignoring Baki's annoyed growl. "So I'm guessing he's getting his way."

"Doesn't he always?" Nitram mutters, half to himself. After a moment of pause, he goes over to lean against the high-top counter. "It's like he doesn't even care about our reputation, and-"

"Buddy," Simon interrupts, laughing. He reaches for the newspaper and pitches it toward Nitram. He catches it easily, glancing down. "You don't have much of a reputation left."

The headline nearly makes him burn the damn paper. The picture under it, and he has to look away before he actually  _does_ set things on fire. "How did people even-?"

"Don't know," Baki says, clipped, "Possibly in passing islands. They hang around like vultures just to get a blurry picture, and..."

The front picture  _is_ blurry, Nitram notices when he looks back at it. It must have been one of the times they'd had to brign Seto back in to check on his mostly-healed ports. Martin is most of the way through the port, eyes glaring at something in the distance, with Seto looking after him. Martin's hand is on his shoulder, and the  _horns_ -

"So they all know," Nitram whispers, eyes tracing the barely-visible curve of mottled black and brown coming from Martin's hair. "You- Why didn't you tell me?"

Baki glances over, and away, and looks more guilty than Nitram thinks possible. "I've... been busy, with the deathbell-"

"I haven't."

Nitram wants to  _kill_ something, and that something might turn out to be Simon. Baki swats him in the shoulder, but Simon doesn't seem to notice. "Does it even matter, Nitram? We've known since that one guy came, and... Well. I figured it wouldn't be a very well-kept secret once the press started wiggling their way in."

"I need to tell Martin," he hisses, folding the paper up and marching downstairs. He nearly has to backpedal when not one, but  _two_ fledglings come hurrying up the stairs. Ethan makes a break for the door, while Seto slides to a halt. "Baki! She got out! Martin's trapped!"

Baki is up in an instant, grabbing a mask from the box always kept on the desk. He seems to forget gloves as he races downstairs, Nitram and Simon on their heels.

The woman's snarling fills the corridor, but there's no sight of blood or any angels. Baki pauses once to toss them both masks and gloves, pulling on his own even as he runs down towards the sound. He skids to a halt in front of one of the middle rooms, swearing up and down. "She's in the decontamination room. I think Martin's in the solitary one; can't see him."

Nerves making his hands shake, Nitram glances around for some sort of weapon. Martin is in there,  _wingless_ , and still in no shape to be wrestling with the infected. He doesn't know how to get her out, and-

And Baki presses a few numbers, and the door hisses open. Nitram freezes, ears ringing, realizing that they had been  _talking_ while he had panicked.

The woman flings herself into the wall, howling, and drops to the ground. She doesn't bother getting to her feet, instead, she starts scrambling on all fours, clawing at their legs. Baki raises a leg and kicks her in the skull, knocking her to the side only momentarily. 

But it's long enough for Simon to tackle her, pinning her arms down with his wingtips, piercing through her wrists. Her screams escalate as she thrashes, teeth snapping like a cornered, rabid animal.

Baki  _hesitates_.

Nitram does not. He reaches with magic, and there are the familiar poppings and whistlings of fire, and then he pours it down her throat.

Her struggles die quickly, choking, unable to draw air into burnt and boiling lungs. Simon quickly gets to his feet, taking a few steps back. "Baki, what the  _hell_."

"I- I don't-" Baki looks too shaken, pale, as if he'd just seen his own nightmare. "I- I gave her the cure two days ago, she- She shouldn't be-"

There's a furious knocking on one of the doors. Nitram hurries towards the decontamination chamber, quickly prying open the solitary door. Martin is uninjured, thank  _god_.

"I'd let Ethan out," he says, leaning against the wall, looking at the corpse, trying to get his breathing under control. "And just- She just  _broke out_. Baki, what the fuck? I thought- I thought you said those things kept magic sealed inside."

"They should. I don't- I check the sigils regularly, there was no way they could have been messed up." The three watch as Baki numbly heads toward the last door, giving the occupied room a wide berth. There's silence for a long, long time. Simon gets up and hurries in. The moment he's out of sight, he swears. 

Nitram sees why when he goes over, stopping short in the doorway. He feels Martin beside him.

The sigils carefully carved into the door, blocking all magic in, keeping the room cold, double-making sure the door is locked-

Those are all scratched over, interrupted and dead. Baki sits down on the floor, putting his head in his hands. "Si, check- check the other doors."

Simon backs away, pushing past Martin and Nitram. They glance at each other, then back at Baki. "Baki-?"

"You guys need to go." Baki stumbles to his feet, "It can't be a coincidence that this happened while you were down here, Martin, you need to leave."

Nitram momentarily thinks back to the newspaper. He wonders why his island hadn't gotten the mail that day. Muttering a curse, he grabs Martin's sleeve and starts pulling him upstairs. "There's something you need to know, Martin," he mutters, glancing around once they get back up. He bends down and picks up the discarded sheets of newspaper. Folds them back together, then drops it into Martin's hands.

Martin takes one glance, then looks over at the door. Nitram follows his gaze, to where Ethan is sitting on a chair, Seto next to him. They're talking quietly, but both look up when they seem to realize they're looking at them. "How are we going to get my friends-"

"We'll figure that out." Martin is already on his way out, crumbling the paper angrily. "We'll get the tagalong or something. Come on you two, we need to get home."

"What's going on?" Seto asks, nearly running into Nitram's legs when both he and Martin stop suddenly at the doors. Nitram glances around, peering at the nearby islands. He can't see anyone, but...

Martin pushes Seto towards the warp, gesturing for Ethan to follow, eyes still flicking around. When he pushes in the coordinates, he holds his hand over the keypad. Nitram stays behind last, still looking around even as he steps back through the portal. 

He steps to the side, leaning down on the panel and burning a mark through the powering sigil. It shuts down with a whine. Martin comes back from the bridge, where Ethan and Seto are already crossing to the main island. The vampire looks healthy as if he didn't just get out of surgery a couple of days ago. Deciding that's something he'll ask about later, he meets Martin by the bridge. "Go inside, make sure there's no new sigils or any surprises," Nitram says quietly, looking around. "I'll fly around and look for anything."

Martin nods, eyeing the smithing building. He shakes his head and starts for the bridge. Nitram snaps open his wings and leaps, arching over the edge, and then dropping down below the islands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guess who's gonna get to start flying next chapter lmao


	24. high rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof so sorry that it took me a while to post this. I actually started another series, I recommend you go check it out. it's called the Furr series, with the first book named 'fur pelts and wheat fields'.
> 
> anyway, updates will probably slow down some. i won't be dropping anything, don't worry, but i also won't be posting like i usually do. sorry bout that.

The weight on Seto's back is foreign, and it makes walking hard. He keeps tipping over, which makes his wings spaz out as he tries to catch his balance. But every time they move, he stumbles even more, so most of the time he's falling on his ass.

By the fifth time he falls over, Martin pulls him to his feet and says, "Don't fight them, Seto, the magic is connecting them to you. They're going to act like actual flesh-limbs, and you're going to have to just trust them."

Okay. Fine. Easy to say, easy to think in theory. But actually trusting them? The only thing connecting the wings (but holy shit are they beautiful) are a few measly tendrils and locks, which are mostly stitched into his back. (As it turns out, though, it's as if there are actual honest-to-god holes in his back, maybe an inch deeper than he originally thought. Martin said once he grows up, that'll eventually go away. It's just that his back is so small, and-)

Nitram is away, for some reason. Seto's kind of... well, not upset about that, but he doesn't really like it. But from what he'd heard, Nitram is only away arranging the new island for Ethan and the other kids. It's only been a few days since they brought Ethan from the hospital, so he's glad it's coming along quickly. Seto reminds himself to make sure to visit them once he has this... flying thing out of the way. He hasn't met any of them yet.

Martin grabs one of his wings- God, he's not going to get used to that, they actually  _feel_ things, as if they have nerves or some shit - and lifts it slightly. "It should all be instinctual. Most of the basics are, anyway. All you do is jump, and trust your wings, and you'll be gliding in no time."

Seto inches closer to the edge, peering over it. "I don't think- I don't think normal angels grew up like I did, Martin," he says, staring down at the ocean far, far below. "I- Humans aren't supposed to fly, and it doesn't matter  _what_ I am, I still grew up as one, and I- I want to fly, I really do, but this- It's really high up, and-"

A scream is ripped from his mouth when he's shoved off the edge. He flails, wings flapping out of sync. A whistle  _(Look.)_ sounds to his right and he looks over, finding Martin diving with him, wings pulled close to let him dive. "Seto, calm down, but figure out how the hell you're getting out of this fall. I'm still hurt, so I can't catch you."

"What?!" Seto shrieks, tumbling over once, clawing at the air. "You can't-!"

Martin laughs, but is still falling next to him. Wow, geez, at least Seto won't die alone. 

The ocean is rushing up quickly. Seto tries to think back to all the times Martin or Nitram had caught him. Every single time, they didn't immediately snap out of the dive. They slowly opened their wings-

Which doesn't help, considering his wings are still flailing around. Instincts and trust, his ass. Struggling against the wind, though, he pulls them close, mirroring Martin's form.

"Good," Martin calls, then whistles the tone that means  _Watch._

Eyes stinging from the wind and craning his neck to look up at Martin, he watches as he slowly opens the edges of his wings, letting the wind balloon under them. There's some weird twitch there, and then they unfurl fully. But it's not in a snap, it's  _gradual_. How the hell is he supposed to do that?

Seto looks back towards the ocean and decides he doesn't have the  _time_ to figure that out. He shifts so his wings are against his sides, and then slowly, slowly starts to open them.

"Turn the running edge more out, don't keep it pulled in like that or it will send you into a spin."

Only half of Martin's words actually reach past the wind, but Seto does as told. As best as he can, anyway. It- He can't figure out how to turn the edges  _out_ , while still keeping the rest of his wing in-

He must have fucked up, because his straight nose-dive suddenly turns into a spiraling one, wings out, but he's still going down, and down, and now he's just spinning, getting dizzy, feeling sick-

Something  _yanks_ his tail. And he yelps in pain but then realizes he's not- He's not really  _falling_. He's still descending, but he's mostly flat, gliding down quickly. 

"There you go," Martin calls from his left. Seto doesn't dare turn his head to look, lest he sends himself spiraling off course again. "You need to keep your tail straight unless you want to turn, Seto."

Part of Seto wants to scream that Martin doesn't know how  _difficult_ that is - already, he's swerving back and forth, unable to keep that damn thing still, unable to keep his  _wings_ still - but he closes his mouth. Martin  _used_ to have a tail. So, yeah, he probably knows how to fly with one.

And then Martin's hands are on his shoulders, wings somehow folding up and down, up and down, raising them further from the ocean, all without brushing Seto's own wings. 

Happy to have more space between him and the water, Seto chances a look upward, momentarily wishing there was just an  _autopilot_. He isn't sure how the hell Martin does it, making flying look so easy. 

"To rise, Seto, you pull your wings up, first. Strongest, fastest way, but you don't always have to if you have the wind under you." Martin pitches forward, suddenly in front and below him, and demonstrates. Seto's seen birds fly. It's somewhat similar. Pull wings  _in_ and up and forward, then flatten and down and _back_. Like a breaststroke, somewhat. He tries to copy, and it works, but he doesn't really go higher up.

"Put more into the downstroke, go faster on the up," Martin says, and when Seto looks to him again, he's- He's flying  _upside-down_. How the  _hell_ -?

Okay. Breathe. He'll ask Martin about that later. He's seen Nitram do it, but not really like that. Taking another breath - Why does it feel like he can get more in his lungs than before? - he  _yanks_ his wings up, then flattens them on the downstroke, heaving himself higher. 

A breathless laugh escapes him for a second. Hell, it's working. It's a miracle, really.

Another couple of beats - they're all slow, he can't get them to be too quick, not right now - and he's starting to reach the clouds. Martin keeps pace with him easily, usually staying above him. A push here, a tap there, lift that wing up a bit, keep your feet together...

It's... Somewhat easier than Seto thought. He still is fighting his wings; his flaps are still somewhat out of sync, but he's actually, honest-to-god  _flying_.

Huh.

Wow.

Martin lets out a whistle, and another, two quick things, and Seto takes a moment to try and think of what they mean. Oh, right.  _Higher_. Thank god the angel decided to try and teach him some of the meanings; Seto can barely hear anything over the roaring of the wind.

Clumsily, he tries to rise but looks up to find Martin spiraling farther and farther above him. Right, going straight won't really help him... Seto glances forward to find an island is approaching- Hanging low, under the clouds. Okay so, yeah, he needs to either turn or spiral up like Martin is. A problem, though, is that he doesn't know  _how_ to turn.

Martin whistles again, but it's distant, and it's  _Higher._

Breathe. Seto tilts one wing down like he'd seen so many angels do before, and he starts slewing to the right and _down_ , holy shit holy  _shit_ too fast, fuck-

Martin grabs his wing- Seto's not going to get used to that extra sense of feeling - and levels him out. "Subtle movements," he says, "Let's go lower and figure out how to turn. To glide better, keep your wings at an angle, so it creates lift."

Heart still pounding from the adrenaline, Seto does as told, and suddenly-

Everything is easier.

Blinking, looking around, he realizes what had been wrong just then. Wings tilted wrong, not sharp enough, and he'd been descending rapidly, despite him trying his best to stay in the air. "Oh," he says intelligently. Cranes his head to look at Martin, copying his movements. Smooth, like swimming, okay, he can do this. 

"Don't dip a wing unless you really need to turn," Martin says, dropping in front of him. "Twist them and lean."

And, slowly, so Seto can watch, he does just that, the pinions of his left wing twisting at some weird angle, and he leans his body weight. Taking a steadying breath, Seto does the same and choppily swerves to the left. He keeps over-balancing, which tilts him too fast. But it's working. Okay, so he can turn. Good. Cool. That still doesn't explain how to spiral up like that.

 _Higher._ He looks up; Martin is slowly ascending, but he's still in a straight line. Thank god. Seto scrambles after him, wings furiously pumping to help him keep up.

Another whistled command, a  _follow_ , and they start weaving through the islands. Martin had timed it just right, so that they rise up through the heaviest layer of islands, and then have the higher lanes to fly. 

Seto clutches at the hem of his shirt, looking around wildly, body accidentally swerving in the directions he looks at. There are a  _lot_ of angels around them, and- And  _fuck_ , they're all looking.

A whistle ahead, Martin easily drops down, avoiding someone with a-  _Fuck_!

Seto scrambles higher, despite the angry shouting of the angel towing the tagalong. Martin looks back sharply, snapping his wings back and kicking his legs forward. He falls back towards where Seto is, and levels out his wings again with a few soft pushes. "Listen for them, Seto," he calls. "You need to know how to avoid people eventually."

This is  _not_ a good time. Seto wants to shout that at him, but he bites his tongue; Martin calls a sharp whistle and the surrounding few angels drop further away, giving them space. One of them has trouble; her wings move out of sync, and when she looks over at them, she accidentally swerves towards them. Another kid, just now learning to fly...

At least he's not alone in the flailing. 

"Arms help to steer as well." Martin pushes on his shoulder. "Go right, and follow me. Pay attention to where you're flying."

Nodding, Seto drops an arm, surprised that it  _does_ help. Okay, good, because he wasn't sure what made up for how birds naturally have feathered tails- But this isn't technically like bird flight. And it's not like those... weird metal  _airplane_ things he's seen in books and old, old movies. It's something different, foreign, but... Yeah, he can dig it.

They fly past a weird u-shaped island, which catches Seto's attention. It's then he looks around and realizes he... recognizes this part of the clump. Vaguely. But there are no skyscrapers, so it can't be one of the bigger islands nearby, and-

And that's when Seto blinks and wants to slap himself for being stupid. The hospital is right there, just... He couldn't really distinguish it from above. But yeah, it made sense. Baki said to go right back, so Martin probably knew to do that. So he'd just led Seto to the island, and-

Yeah, how the  _fuck_ does he land?

Martin makes it look easy, slowing down, wings starting to turn at some weird angle as he pulls his upper body back. Seto tries to do the same, but only ends up flailing and losing balance. He- When he gets it back, he's almost  _there_ , shit, where is he even going to  _land_ -

It turns out to be on the landing pad. His right foot hits the edge, and that sends him splatting and sliding across the surface. He bounces and, with a scream, drops off the stretch into bushes. 

He hears laughter and looks up from his bed of leaves and brambles to find Martin walking over. "Why didn't you show me?" Seto gripes, taking the offered hand to get to his feet. 

"You still would have done it wrong. Every fledgling does. I feel  _off_ the island I was trying to land on."

Seto brushes leaves off his clothes, wordlessly mocking the angel. But Maritn's words die quickly, and Seto has to look up to make sure nothing is about to kill him. He's learned to take sudden silence with a grain of salt.

The yellow tape stretched across the doors to the hospital sends shivers racing down his spines. Martin's wings  _clatter_ and he looks over, but the angel is still. Oh, wait, shit, it's his  _own_ wings making the noise.

Tail whipping back and forth, stopped only by the pinions of his wings, Seto ventures closer to Martin. "Do you know what happened?"

Martin wordlessly shakes his head and goes for the door, peering in through the glass. He raises a hand to the side of the building and presses at some invisible sigil, then pushes his way into the hospital. Unsure and somewhat afraid, Seto follows him.

It's  _dark_. The hospital has  _never_ been dark. Sure, Baki turns off the in-patient rooms when nobody is in there, but... Seto's never seen any of the lobby lights flipped off. But that's not even the most disturbing thing. He hadn't really noticed it when it'd been on, but the hospital gave off this... Constant humming of machines. Even if there weren't any patients. There was the small decorative fountain on the countertop, the humming of bright lights, and just the general noises and air of an occupied building.

But this...

It was abandoned.

Martin creeps forward, past the desk. Seto takes one more glance around and hurries to his heels, peering into the room behind the desk when Martin opens the door. Empty. Dark. Some clothes are tossed on the floor, and a pair of wings hang on a hook on the wall. The bed isn't made, and the kitchenette across the room isn't making any noise either. The fridge seems to be off.

Martin closes it and goes to the storage closet. Seto sighs a breath of relief, along with the angel, when they both hear the gentle humming of the coolers. "You check one side of the hall," Martin whispers. Seto nods, not wanting to break the silence any more than he had to.

Some sort of hope flutters in his chest as he opens the first door, but it quickly dies. The second, another check-up room, yeilds nothing new. The third, the OR, is dark and dim, and- 

"Martin," he hisses, turning to find Martin a few doors down. The angel hurries over, and visibly bites his lip to keep from swearing.

Blue stains the bed, and the floors, and the counters. The odor drifts their way, stale and  _putrid_. Seto quickly covers his mouth and nose with his shirt, and Martin shuts the door. He turns the lock and presses a sigil on the wall near the doorknob. "Don't go in there," he says quietly. "There wasn't a body."

Chills race down Seto's back and he desperately pulls his wings close to stop their rattling. Breath picking up, he stays with Martin as they check the remaining rooms. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Until the last room. The moment they open it, something comes hurtling at their heads. Martin ducks; Seto doesn't need to.

There's a crash inside, and then silence. Martin, wings mantled and ready for a fight, suddenly relax. "Jin?"

The human pokes his head up from behind the bed, eyes narrowed at them. He slowly stands and- Christ, he's covered in blood. Jin had built some sort of fort out of chairs and the desk and anything else he seemed to find, keeping him barricaded behind the bed. 

Martin stays cautious, thank god. But the moment he takes one careful step inside, Jin ducks back down and grabs something and  _throws_ it at them. This time the object thunks Martin in the chest, making the angel stumble back. Jin is shaking his head furiously, and  _fuck_ he looks scared.

Realization strikes Seto immediately. "Martin, deathbell," he hisses and pulls his shirt over his face again. At Jin's slow, careful nod, they both step back.

"Where's Baki?" Martin asks through his own shirt, and he pulls his flight goggles down over his eyes. "Downstairs?"

Another nod. Jin still doesn't leave his makeshift fort. He holds up one, two, three, four...

Upon a total of nine fingers, Seto shakily inhales. Nine.  _Nine_. The most infected Baki has had, had only been... Two at a time, maybe. More had come and gone, or died. But  _nine_. There'd never been so many at once.

"Is Baki infected?" Martin hides his fear well, but his voice shakes on the last words. The implications are only just settling into Seto's own head. Baki is the only one who can make deathbell's cure. If he dies-

Jin doesn't move. He keeps staring, evenly. Not a positive, not a negative. He must not know.

"Is going downstairs safe?"

A hesitant nod. Jin glances around, then rustles through something behind his barricade. After a moment, he holds up paper.  _Careful_ _. Last room empty. Others packed in cells. Simon and Baki in solitary. Two infected in one cell, others single._

It's weird to know Jin can... talk, in a sense. He's not some dumbed-down Above human. He's an actual person. Seto feels sick.

Martin gives him a nod. "Can we go down?"

A pause. Then,  _Yes. Room two and four. Do not let them out._  

Martin bids him farewell and good luck and closes the door behind them. Seto starts for the stairs. Martin doesn't protest, but he holds Seto back so he can go down first. He leaves the lights off but raises a palm. Fingertips glowing, they go by way of the dim light. Seto glances from side to side then grabs Martin's shirt and tugs him to a stop. Let'ss get masks," he whispers. The silence is  _horrible_. As far as he's seen, deathbell cases go mad. They scream and  _fight_. This silence is... unnerving.

Seto goes to the small cut-out in the wall, taking a pair of elbow-length gloves and handing them to Martin. The angel pulls them on, reaching for masks on the top shelf. He drops one into Seto's gloved hands. "Wish I knew where those full-body suits were," Martin mutters under his breath, tearing off a piece of a glove and tying his hair back with the rubber. It's weird to see the jagged edges of his ears and the horns curling from his temples, but Seto doesn't give it much thought.

Tail swishing nervously, Seto goes after Martin, stopping at room two. Across the hall is four. Both have their lights off. Martin slowly presses the speaker button and stands in silence. Static. But not the creepy, microphones-have-been-taken-out static. Just... silence. "Baki?" Martin whispers, "Simon?"

There's a breathless laugh from inside. "Hell, Martin, why're you here?"

Simon. Sounds like he's sane, too. 

"Took Seto flying," Martin explains. "Are you infected?"

"Nah. Been in here for... a few days. Can't tell."

"Who's feeding you?"

Another laugh. Simon doesn't sound too good. "Go talk to Baki. I can't. He's really fucked up over this."

Martin glances behind them at the fourth room. He presses the talk button and-

It's not static.

There's heavy breathing as if someone has been running miles. A growl sounds. Seto bites back panic. Looks up, wide-eyed, at Martin.

"Baki?" Martin asks quietly. "Are you okay?"

A cackle; something thumps. "Why would I be?... New strain, new... New everythin'. Can't- Can't  _shift_ them, this time, can't... Can't fix this."

Seto's stomach churns rocks around. He wishes he could see inside. But at the same time, he doesn't want to. 

"Are you infected?" Martin asks, and there's a hint of fear in his tone.

Baki stays silent for a long, long time. Eventually, he says, "I got sick from it once, y'know." His words are slurred, are... "And I- I think I've always been infected, hm? Always. Just... I'm... I dunno. Not immune. I can still get sick, but- Hah! Hahaha... But I think... I dunno, the _active_ disease is- ev'one's got it, the uh, the passive one, ah... Active is diff'ent. Ha. Haha-"

Baki trails off into cackling. Something rustles inside, then there's a quiet  _thud_. Then a few more. Maybe he's kicking the floor. Seto grips the hem of his shirt, shutting his eyes, brain struggling to keep up with everything that's happening. 

"There's 'n outbreak," Baki whispers, and it's hushed, so quiet Seto can barely hear it. "There's 'n outbreak an' I'm... It's a new strain, Martin. I can't cure it."

"Are you  _infected_ , Baki?" Martin pushes, pressing against the door. The control pad creaks slightly from the force of him pressing down the button. Baki laughs, then says, "No, no... Just- Very drunk. I would be able to tell, you know? I can feel each individ- indiv- in'v'duhl blood cell, hah? All bright an'... pretty. Flashes. Healthy. 'Xcept for that one spot... Somewhere on my st'mach, think.. Someone got me there once, back 'fore this place was nicer, annnd.. Dunno how I survived."

Martin swears under his breath and lets go of the button, rubbing his forehead. Seto shares a glance with him, then quietly heads for the other rooms. He presses the buttons for the microphones, but most of them are quiet. A couple make a few whimpers, but nothing intelligible. He doesn't want to call out, less he rile the infected up. He shares another concerned glance with Martin, then hurries back over.

"Seto," he says quietly, "That room behind the desk, there's a kitchen. Go get some water and food for them, alright? I need to talk with Baki."

"Yeah- Yeah, I will." Seto nods and glances back at the dimly lit hall one last time before he hurries back upstairs.

It feels sort of weird to actually go into the room. It's very clearly just a personal living space for Baki. (Seto was pretty sure that the doctor never really left; this is just the proof.) It's disheveled, surprisingly, despite Baki seeming like the type to be a neat freak. But on second look, it's almost as if it was abandoned in a rush, the bedsheets scattered and a few things tossed about. 

Shivering, Seto goes to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge first. There's not much; just some leftovers. He could have sworn Baki had given him canned food when he'd been in solitary that one time, the trick is just to find it...

After a bit more of rummaging around, finding a stash of water bottles in the process, Seto finally pulls open a sliding drawer. In it, many cans lay in neat rows, labels on the top. He pulls out as many as his shirt can carry, then goes to the water bottles and gathers them as well. Baki's probably dehydrated if he's been drunk the whole time... Or maybe the doctor had had the foresight to give himself and Simon some water before they were locked in. 

Shaking his head and deciding it's better to be safe than sorry, he hurries out of the living space and shuts the door behind him.

The only reason he hears the conversation on his way down is because of the utter, horrible silence.

"- and they'll be safe."

"What do you mean?"

Chills nearly rattle his wings. Seto immediately drops lower, sneaking down the stairs. He presses against the small corner where the basement door is, peering past it. 

Aza is at the end of the hall, one light illuminating him. His eyes are... just brown. His whole appearance seems somewhat  _off_ , but Seto can't put his finger one it. 

"I said, they need to get away from you. Or you from them."

Martin shifts; Seto can't see much of his expression with his back turned. "Why? I already know someone is going to be coming after us-"

"Muran isn't the problem." Aza waves a hand, dismissing the idea.  _How_ did he know who Martin was talking about? "The problem is you. We-  _I_ need you alive. Being around them... That isn't an option. Especially that brat."

"Seto isn't doing anything wrong." Martin's wings are mantling slightly; his feet shift as if he's about to attack.

"Not yet, but he's in the way. I can't have him near you." Aza's eyes flick past Martin and Seto ducks down, pressing a fist over his mouth to hold his breath. He shivers and sits and waits, until the feeling of being watched passes and the conversation picks back up. "Look, Martin, I... I know how it is, to lose a family. My husband, my daughter... But you need to understand. Being around them is only going to  _destroy_ all of you." His voice softens. "It happened to me."

"You keep saying this," Martin hisses, "but you don't give any explanation-"

"I can't. Not yet." The shell is back up; Seto thinks it was probably just a ruse.

Seto glances back into the hallway, heart thundering in his chest. Thank god Aza isn't an angel; he might  _hear_ it, but... With the way Aza shifts to the left, to have a better view of the door... He already knows Seto is there. And he's still continuing this? Why?

"Why?" The smell of ozone is starting to prickle in the air; Martin's hair is rising slightly, and the telltale crackle of lightning is starting to form around his arms. 

Ava takes a deep breath and sighs through his nose. He folds his hands behind his back, a clear display of passiveness. "If I could tell you, Martin, I would. We have tried so  _many_ times to set things right..." He trails off, a hint of anger finally showing in his next words. "First it was your older brothers that fucked the plan up. Then it was Kaizen. Now it's the kid. I need you away from those two, at least just go back east, and-"

"I'm not leaving." That's that. Martin shifts and the magic arches from his arm to a light above him, shattering it in a flash. He shifts, and jabs, and the lightning spears toward Aza.

The light at the end of the hall flicks out. A few heavy heartbeats later, it slowly glows back to life. A singed wall is all that's left. Aza is gone.

Seto gulps and steps into the hallway, catching Martin's attention. "How did he-"

"I don't know. I turned around and he was there." Martin glances back towards the spot where the... man had been standing. He shakes his head and presses the button to Baki's room. 

Seto tunes out his conversation with the doctor once it's obvious that Baki hadn't heard anything. He was only wondering why the fuck Martin shot lightning in such a confined space. When Martin brushes the question off and unlocks the door to give him the food, Seto goes over to the spot Aza had been, something catching his eye despite the dim hall.

He bends down and picks up the small object, frowning at the tag tied to it. His name is written on the slip of paper in a looping form of cursive. He turns the thing over in his hands, trying to figure out what it is. Small, wooden, in the general shape of a cube... 

Martin calls his name and Seto looks up, stuffing the thing in his pocket. He'll ask about it later. Not here. 

"Baki says, if you're not bleeding or sore, you're alright," Martin says, pulling Seto back down the hall. "I'll be back to take care of them. Let's just... go." 

Seto won't complain. The sooner they get out of that condemned hospital, the better. Nothing good will come from staying any longer than they have to. 


	25. and the wind will howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway, uh, sorry that i've taken so long to update this. things got in the way lmao. also, this is a short chapter, but the next one should be posted fairly soon.

"It attacks at random," Jeremiah says, pointing at the map laid out on the table. "No pattern, no specific time... The only reoccurring thing is that it attacks when the sun is down, and it...  _eats_ the bones."

Martin glances up from the drawing, over to Nitram, then to Jeremiah. "You said how many deaths a week?"

Jeremiah clears his throat slightly and taps on one of the red circles. "It gets anybody in the house if it gets in. Maybe... four, five houses every seven days."

"They're too far apart, though," Martin mutters, tracing the path marked down. "Even flying, you can't get from here to here in one day."

"Multiple, maybe?" Nitram takes a sip from his cup, setting it down with a quiet  _clack_. He takes his leg off his other knee to lean forward. "They're concentrated areas, so it would make sense. Look, here is a whole group of attacks. Then over here, another group."

Martin sits back for a moment to look over the map. The attacks had happened all near the northwestern islands. Just a bit further south and the killer would be on their doorstep. The nearest bunch of killings had happened about half a day's flight north of where they're sitting. "So we have maybe... three, our four of these things out there. Why? And why haven't they been dealt with?"

At this question, Jeremiah gulps slightly. "Ah, you see... General Masikae and General Junys mostly take care of the spirits, when they're disturbed. Junys is, uh, well, out of commission, so to say. And between having to deal with the breeding grounds, and also all the paranormal issues... Masikae simply doesn't have the time. She's recently asked General Lhoris to help with the camps, but there aren't many others who can help with the spirits. There are other things to attend to. Other happenings, and such..."

The two brothers share a glance.  _Junys, out of commission? Because of Nathaniel, maybe?_

Nitram shrugs slightly, lips pressed tight.  _Probably. If he's no help, we'll have to deal with this ourselves._

"So what is it?" Martin asks suddenly, causing Jeremiah to flinch. "What are we dealing with, here? And why isn't this a priority?"

"W-We- General Masikae isn't sure. We don't have any survivors of the attacks. And, uh, any neighbors, well, they don't report having seen anything. It doesn't matter the weather, as well. Dry, windy, rain. It doesn't seem to, uh, care."

"So there are no angry elementals out for blood," Nitram rules out, scratching something on his notepad. "What about-"

"Ilicho," Martin says, on the same train of thought. "It fits the description. Bones being eaten, nightly attacks. No sign of breaking and entering, though."

" _And_  those are only winter spirits," Jeremiah points out. He glances back towards the map, tiredly rubbing his eyebrow. The poor man has to deal with too much. "It's almost summertime on the Ground. Brian and his servants haven't given any sign of spirits like these. It's only up here."

The General's name puts a frown on Martin's face. He's come to learn that Brian is  _detatched_ from the problems in the Above. They're not his problem. Fair enough. Martin can work with that. "So we have no clue what these are. Our best hopes is to... set up guards, patrols around the areas that are being attacked. Send out the word that nobody is to answer the door under any circumstance, and to hide in their storm shelters."

If Jeremiah thinks it's extreme, he doesn't say anything. He already has his pen and paper out, jotting down the instructions. He looks up midway through. "Will you be joining the patrols?"

Nitram is about to argue, but Martin holds up a hand. "Of course. I'll be here, the closest to us." he taps at the nearest cluster of attacks. "If anybody reports seeing  _anything_ out of the ordinary, tell me immediately."

[...] 

"So can I bring Ethan over?" Seto asks, watching Martin sharpen the blades. He raises it up to the light, tilting it back and forth, then setting it back down across his lap and pulling the stone over it again.

"Just Ethan," Nitram answers, tightening his new belt around his waist. He twists slightly, testing out its flexibility. Martin glances up and points at Seto with the blade. "Nobody else, Seto. We don't need a bunch of fledglings running around the house while we're gone and something's out there."

"So it's a monster?" Seto asks, his mind already hopping to the problem at hand. He glances up from the strange wooden block he'd picked up from somewhere, fingers resting in the constant twisting and turning of its puzzle. Maybe he'd found it on one of the shelves. Martin assumes its one of their own wooden puzzles. "Like, what's it look like?"

"We don't know. It's a spirit." Martin leans forward to pull his unattached wing closer, sliding the sharpened blade into its hidden spot among the feathers. "Don't answer the door for anyone. Once you and Ethan are inside, stay there. We'll be back tomorrow, hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Seto echoes, brow scrunching. He glances back down to the puzzle. What was probably just a cube, now has several pieces of wood protruding, slid out from barely-visible slots. It's twisted almost into a triangle, now, which he tries to pry apart momentarily. It doesn't work. Martin sighs. The kid could latch onto the strangest things, sometimes. "Like, so around eight?"

"Only Ethan, Seto." Already onto him, Nitram gives the kid a pointed glare. "Nobody else. There are leftovers in the fridge."

Seto heaves a sigh and gets up from the couch, still fiddling with the cube. He walks staring at it, then when he reaches the fridge he slings it open. Makes noises of disgust. "We had that just last night, though. Do you guys, like,  _not_ have pizza rolls or anything?"

Martin and Nitram share a glance. Slowly, Martin shakes his head, his own words echoed by his brothers. "What?"

"Nevermind," Seto grumbles, then glances over at the pantry. He puts the cube on the counter to start looking through the shelves. "Could  _I_ make something?"

"I'd... prefer if you didn't." Nitram's too overprotective of his kitchen if you ask Martin. Hell, he doesn't think he's been allowed to touch the oven since they  _moved_ there. "But... if you  _must_ , then make sure you turn the stove off afterward."

"Sweet." Seto's already grabbing out flour, butter, fresh tomatoes... Martin shakes his head. Goes back to sharpening the last few blades. 

"Now," Nitram says, grabbing Seto's attention. "Board games are in the shelves. Don't go in our rooms, don't climb into the washing or drying machine.  _Only_ Ethan-"

"You sound like my mom when I brought Adam over," Seto mumbles, squinting down at the tomatoes as he pulls off stems and leaves, then starts to rinse them under the tap. "I'm like seventeen at this point. I'll be fine. Hell, I should be  _driving_ by now."

"Driving?" Nitram asks. Martin thinks back to the cop cars, and how heavy and horrible those things had been. He'd felt them through his magic, how fragile and deadly those things could be. "No driving," he says quickly, earning glances from the both of them. "Gasoline isn't allowed."

Seto splutters for a moment, "But that's- No, cars just run on that, I mean-"

"Gasoline?" Nitram asks, alarmed, looking back toward Seto. "That's explosive. I agree with Martin. No driving."

"You guys don't even know anything  _about_ cars! They're safe! There's seatbelts, and airbags, and  _brakes_ , and-"

Half of what Seto says is new things Martin hasn't heard of, so he tucks the words in the back of his mind for later. "No cars. No driving."

"I- I don't even need to, really, but like- I-"

"No driving," Nitram repeats. "Especially while we're gone."

Seto groans and shakes his head, giving up and returning to his tomatoes. He dumps the last clean one into the bowl and grabs a spatula, jabbing it down onto them to mush them up. "Yeah, okay, okay. No driving, I got it."

Satisfied for the time, Nitram leaves to get his flight goggles and jacket. Martin gets to his feet, popping his left wing into the socket. "And... Seto, keep your wings on."

Seto looks over his shoulder, then glances toward the door, where his wings are hanging on the hooks. "Why?"

"If something does happen, it's best if you have some form of protection." Martin grabs his other wing. Seto drops the spatula and wipes squished tomato sauce off on his pants. 

"How... How many people did this thing kill?" He asks, and this time Martin can tell there's no... curiosity there. Seto's trying to gauge how much danger he's actually in.

"You'll be fine," Martin says quickly, but anxiety curdles in his stomach. He almost tells Seto the truth, that there might be more than one, and that the closest one is practically on their doorstep. "But as we said, Seto, don't open the door after dark. Even if it's me. If I have to get in, I will."

"Why wouldn't I open the door for you?"

" _Don't_ open the door for anything." And he can't help himself, anger worms its way into his tone. Seto's brows immediately scrunch closer, giving him a scrutinizing look. After a long moment, he nods. "Yeah, no, we won't open the door. Promise."

He nearly sighs in relief. "Good. If anything happens, get to the basement, and lock the doors, and don't come out until we get back. Make sure Ethan knows not to open the door or anything, alright? And tell those other kids, as well."

"Yeah, I got it. We'll be safe."

Martin pushes away the weird gut feeling telling him to stay home and hurries to get ready the rest of the way. Seto will be fine. Besides, the spirit has a concentrated area of prey, why would it come all the way out here just for a couple of kids?


	26. sweet dreams are made of this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda going out of order with the POV switching. this chapter's for seto. after this, it'll go back to normal, and we'll be following up with martin, then nitram, then around again. sorry about that.

"So where'd you get it?" Ethan asks, turning the cube over in his hands. Seto hikes up a shoulder, unwilling to tell the truth. "Uh, just found it laying around. I haven't been able to open it yet."

"Are you sure it even opens?" Ethan kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, peering at the cube. "I don't think it does."

"It's gotta." Seto snatches it from his hands, trying to open a few more slots to it. But he reached a stalling point in opening them for the past few hours, and now it's just bugging him. He sighs and tosses it onto the coffee table, then gets up. "Come on, I think the dough might be ready."

"And what are you making?" Ethan groans as he gets up off the couch, reach up to rub at a sore shoulder. 

"Eh, you'll see." He pulls the bowl from the fridge, poking at the risen dough. It should probably be good. He's made pizza dough before, but that was a long time ago, and he had a recipe to follow. He scoops it out of the bowl and onto the counter, pouring some flour onto it so he can roll it out. "What toppings do you want?"

"Toppings?" Ethan echoes, peering over his shoulder to watch. "Um. I don't know."

Seto sighs and finishes pressing the dough out. It's a bit too stringy, but it should work. Probably. 

Dough rolled out and set on the tray, Seto flings open the fridge doors and pauses. He doesn't recognize  _half_ of what's in there. "Uh. Vegetables work, so does meat. Bacon, maybe?"

"What's that?" Ethan asks and Seto restrains the urge to sigh again. Okay, he'll just fly blind. After grabbing what looks like  _could_ be alright on a pizza, he pulls out the bowl of sauce that had been sitting in the fridge. Ethan grabs a spoon from the drawer and dips it in, and then stuffs a glob of it in his mouth. Seto stares at him for a moment, watching his face mold from confusion to disgust to something he can't really place. "What in the world  _is_ that?"

"It... goes on the dough," Seto says, glancing toward the tray. He looks back at Ethan. "You're not supposed to eat it like that."

"Oh." Ethan dips another spoonful in, sticks it in his mouth upside-down, then picks up the bowl to start pouring it over the tray. Seto winces and reminds himself to not let Ethan, or any of the other kids, anywhere near the kitchen. Ever again. 

Chopping everything up is something Ethan can do, though, so they work as a team. He cuts up the toppings, Seto places them, and they both hope that it tastes alright, in the end. After dumping a couple of handfuls of cheese on the top, Seto checks the oven to make sure it's up to the right temperature. He's... kind of guessing. He's not sure what temperature pizza normally cooks at, or for how long. Four hundred and fifty seems like an okay number. Maybe for half an hour? Or maybe an hour? It's hard to really tell.

But, never the less, he slides the tray in, slams the oven shut, and stands up. Ethan is over at the bookshelf, crouched down near the bottom. "Holy shit, you guys have Prodigy?'

"We have what?" He heads over to find that Ethan is pulling out a board game, wiping dust from the top of it. It... looks  _vaguely_ like Monopoly. At least, sort of. But... not really. "Uh. I've never played before, so like-"

Ethan waves him off and sets it aside, pulling out a couple more boxes tucked at the very back, bottom of the shelf. Seto didn't really pin the twins as a board game type.  _Maybe_ , if Simon and Baki were over. But the games don't look like they've been used for a long time. "Well, they did say we could use them."

So they go over and both drop down next to the couch. Arranging his wings to stay out of the way, Seto grabs the Prodigy box and shuffles it open. Upon pulling out the board, though, the likeness to Monopoly instantly disappears. The board is wooden and unfolds once. There are weird... dips and grooves along the straight lines. Ethan grabs the box and starts pulling out the pieces, then frowns and shakes it. "The rules aren't here."

"I thought you knew how to play it?"

"Well, I haven't played it since I left Mom's." Ethan frowns and picks through the pieces. "I call the ball."

"I'm sorry?" At this, Ethan scoops up the rest of the pieces, holding them out. Seto holds open his hands and studies them once they drop into his palms. Ethan is holding a clear glass marble, and then there's a cube, a tree, a... dog-looking thing, and what is probably a carriage? As well as a simple feather. He picks that and moves to set aside the rest, but Ethan shakes his head and holds out his hand. "The pieces are still in the game, we just control these."

"Oh, uh, okay." Seto gives them back and turns his attention again to the board. The grooves, like little hills and valleys, travel lengthwise down the board. Ethan sets it between them so that each end is to their sides. 

"Basically," Ethan says, placing each of the six pieces at one end. "You have to make it to this end, and back, without dying."

"How do you die?" Seto asks, and Ethan shrugs. He grabs some cards that were sitting next to his leg and shuffles through them, reading over. "Uh. Here."

Holding one card up to Seto, he says, "There's different ways. Um... I think you roll the dice to see if you die, or not? Or maybe you draw a card, then see which piece it kills."

"But like, if one of us dies each time we pick a card, then-"

"Oh, no! There's other stuff in here, too." Ethan looks over the cards and tosses one at Seto. He picks it up and squints, taking a few long moments to translate it as best he can. Something about skipping someone else's turn, or maybe pushing them back a few spaces. Hard to tell. "Oh, uh, okay."

"And I guess we can figure it out as we go along. Ethan shuffles the small deck and places it to the right, then snatches up the die by the empty box. "Here, I'll go first since i know how to play."

Well, he relatively knows how to play. As the game starts, and progresses, Seto gets the hang of Ethan's rules. It takes a bit of time and for the majority of the first half of the game, he's behind. And then the tree piece pulls something about being gored to death, so Ethan flicks it away. It slides somewhere under the couch. 

In the end, though, neither of them win. The dog thing does, much to their dismay. After the unfair loss, both agree to move on from Prodigy, and onto a card game.

"This one's pretty fun," Ethan says, dealing out twelve cards for each of them. "Basically, you have to match colors. We actually have this game at home. Someone threw away a whole deck, and we got our grubby hands on it. The kids love it."

He starts to pick up his cards, but Ethan slaps his hand away. "No, you can't look."

Seto blinks at him, then glances down at the back of his stack of cards. "Uh. Then how are we going to match the colors?"

Ethan hikes up a shoulder and picks up his cards, turning them around so Seto can see the various colors. "I never said that your deck was under your control."

Realization coming to him, Seto picks up his cards, watching Ethan study them for a moment. "It's a game of... Well, it's hard to explain. You have to do everything you can to keep the other from getting the most points."

He sets his cards down and takes out six cards, each of a different color, and putting them face-up on the floor. "Basically, if I start to put a card down, you can say or do anything to try and get me to put it on the wrong color. No hitting, no grabbing the cards, but magic is allowed."

"Magic?" Seto barely knows any, much less enough to make a game of cards go in his favor. He doubts his magic would really work for this game, anyway. Ethan shoots him a sharp-toothed grin. "I usually win when the kids and I play."

Frowning, Seto studies his cards once again when he picks them up. "You go first."

Ethan shrugs and grabs a card from the middle. Red. He starts to set it down on a blue card. Seto doesn't say anything, but at the last moment Ethan changes his mind and sets it on green. The contrast is immediate, the two colors clashing. Ethan glances over the face-up cards then looks expectantly toward Seto.

So he chooses a card at random, and places it down without looking. To his disappointment, though, it's a yellow, and it lands on a red. "Wait, so... These cards change? We go by the color on top?"

Ethan nods and picks one of his cards, and Seto winces when he starts to put the right color down. Ethan hesitates and glances up at him, cherry red eyes searching for any sign of what he should do. Seto furrows his brows, pinching his lips tight. A moment passes, then Ethan moves it to a different card, and groans when he realizes Seto had him fooled.

Seto grins and starts to put one of his cards down, and cheers when it settles on the right color-

And then it's on blue instead of pink. Seto's fingers close around nothing, where previously there had been a card still grasped. Ethan is smirking at him. "Basically," he says, before Seto can kick up a fit, "Until the card leaves your hand, I can do anything to try and stop you. I already told you magic is allowed."

"Wh-What did you do to it?"

Ethan reaches sideways and grabs the box that held the cards. He lifts it up and- Then it's gone. Seto glances down to find it sitting on his knee. "I'm sorry," he says, "But what the  _fuck_?"

"I can teleport." Ethan puffs up slightly, grinning like mad. "That's why the kids don't like playing this game with me."

"Teleport? I thought- I mean, I thought I was just translating that wrong-"

"Don't tell anyone, y'know?" Ethan glances around as if fearing that the brothers might jump out at any moment. He looks back at Seto. "I mean... I can sometimes use it on myself, but it's mostly just objects. And... you know how people treat teleporters. Where do you think the warps came from?"

"What do you mean?" Game forgotten, Seto puts down his cards. "Don't they just run off of sigils?"

"Magic... It can't just be  _created_ like that. Warps only work because of people like me."

"Created?" It reminds him of the strings, and how he can only really move magic that's already there. "Like, you don't just make it happen?"

"Are they not teaching you magic?" Ethan asks, sounding worried. "That's- That's not right, Seto, that's like abuse. You can't just  _not_ learn your magic-"

"I have... I- It's not good."

At this, Ethan pauses. There are questions in his eyes, but he glances down and nods. If Seto won't tell, he won't ask. "Yeah. I gotcha. Look, I... I don't know much. But if you ever want some tips, I might be able to lend you a hand."

Seto really doesn't think he could. But... "Thanks."

"It's no probl-"

"Do you smell smoke?" Desperate to change the topic, and suddenly realizing the room is hazy, Seto bolts up, cards scattering, and dashes over to the oven. He flings open the door and coughs, waving his hand back and forth at the smoke pluming out from the oven. "Shit.  _Fuck_ Nitram's going to kill me." Without thinking, he reaches in, snatching the tray out and dropping it onto the counter. Hissing at the burn, and wondering why he's not screaming in pain from it, he waves his hands, and looks at his failed attempt at making pizza.

Ethan comes over to stand next to him, glancing sideways out of the corner of his eyes. "Think it's still good?"

"Probably not," Seto grunts, and reaches up over the sink to shove open the kitchen window. Hopefully, it'll let some of the smoke out. "Come on, let's go back to the game. We'll wait for it to cool down."

Hiking his shoulders up in a shrug, Ethan meanders back towards his spot, gathering the cards. He splits them again and lays out the six main colors. They play that game for a while, in which Seto tries his best to get Ethan to lose. In the end, Ethan manages to win three rounds before Seto tosses in the cards and leans back against the couch. Something metal presses uncomfortably into his back and he nearly smacks himself when he remembers that he has wings on.

"Why don't you take those off?" Ethan asks, reaching for the cube. He starts fiddling with it. "They can't be comfortable."

"Martin told me to keep them on. Something about a spirit wandering around."

Ethan hesitates, at that, and looks up. "So like, what's in the news is true?"

Shrugging, Seto takes the cube from him and mindlessly starts pulling at loose pieces. "I don't really read the news. Don't have to. But- You know, I think Martin might have some of the reports still in his room."

At this, they both get up. Seto glances around one more time out of paranoia - He  _really_ shouldn't be doing this - and pushes into Martin's room.

"Didn't know he smoked silverwillow," Ethan mutters, nose scrunching at the sweet tang in the air. "Think he hid some in here?"

"What's silverwillow?" Seto goes to the desk, picking up the top papers. He scans over them, struggling to remember if that one character means death or trumpet. They kind of go hand in hand, really... Shaking his head, he sets the paper aside, grabbing the map that has many dots and circles on it. There are clusters of them, and something about how close that one cluster is to their island just... rubs him the wrong way. Something's up with that, but there aren't any notes made on the map or anything, just circles and dots in what seems like random clusters. 

He sets that aside just as Ethan lets out a triumphant crow. Seto turns around to find Ethan holding up a wooden box. He briefly thinks back to his home on the Ground, and getting into Jordan's weed stash, which had been held in something similar. 

"Dude, these are the best." Ethan plops his ass onto Martin's bed, sliding open the top of the box and plucking out two cigar-like smokes. He looks through the box for a lighter, and sighs. "I swear to god, everyone has fire magic."

Seto grabs one of the cigars from the box, sniffing it to find that it smells like the sweetness in the air. Kind of like vanilla. Huh. "So what do they do?"

"Well, you know honey ash, right?" At Seto's blank stare, Ethan slumps slightly. "Uh... Gives you a nice high. Makes you  _really_ fucking dizzy, makes everything kinda colorful. Amy says she got high once and saw shit, but I've never had that happen. These are... kinda toned down, you know? Dizziness, relaxation, shit like that. Good if you're stressed. That one guy in the hospital smokes them all the time, I noticed when I was there."

"Simon?" He doesn't see Baki smoking.

Ethan nods, waving at his face. "Yeah, the guy with those scars and tattoos? He's badass."

"No, he's just an ass." Seto closes the box before Ethan can grab anymore. "If we take too much, Martin might get suspicious. Where'd you find them?"

"Just sitting on the dresser. Guess he smokes them, too." Ethan snatches the box from his hands and takes on more out, then puts them back on the dresser. He pushes it slightly, trying to get it back in its exact spot. "Put the papers back how you found them."

Seto goes over and shuffles them back into place, but pauses when he finds his kindle underneath all of them. He laughs slightly and slides it out from under all the papers, turning it on to find Martin had been halfway through a... Oh.

"What is it?" Ethan comes over, glancing down at the kindle. He frowns. " _What_ the hell is that?"

"A kindle." Seto goes back to the library, exiting the mechanical book on spacecraft and old,  _old_ airplanes. "Something I took from the Ground. Martin likes it."

"So it's like a book?" Ethan grabs it, squinting at the words. He shakes his head and puts it back under the papers. "Except... flat?"

"Yeah, that's one way to explain it." Seto shrugs and flips the switch off on his way out, letting Ethan pass him so he can close the door. Ethan heads over to the kitchen to light the gas stove, holding one of the cigars on the flame until he pulls it away and takes a drag. He starts hacking, smoke puffing out with each cough. Waving his hand in front of his face, he holds the cigar out to Seto. 

"Try it," he croaks between coughs. Seto laughs at him and takes it, studying the purple tint to the paper, and the weirdly pale grey plant inside. Shrugging, he takes a small puff, blowing it out into Ethan's face. The other angel scowls at him and takes it back. 

They both plop down in front of the couch and pass it back and forth and- Seto realizes that the room is growing somewhat foggy, and he can't really feel his fingers pass the pins and needles. When Ethan offers it again, he raises a hand and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good."

It is nice, though, the weird, light feeling, making it seem like he's floating a few inches above where his body actually is. He grabs the cube puzzle and starts messing with it again. 

"You know," Ethan says, "it's weird that you're only, like, seventeen? You seem older than me."

"Well, how old are you?" Seto doesn't bother looking up.

"Twenty-five, now," Ethan takes a heavy drag from the cigar and goes into a coughing fit, not noticing Seto's eyes widen. Hell,  _twenty-five_? Jordan is only a couple years older than Ethan, and... Seto shakes his head. Jordan was only a couple of years olf than Ethan. Angels age differently. "So how old do you think I should be?"

Ethan shrugs. "I honestly thought you were, like, more like a few years older than me. But seventeen? Hell, you're still a baby. How in the world did they let you get wings?"

Seto pauses, tensing. He looks back to the puzzle. "I- It's complicated."

"Complicated my ass," Ethan mutters but doesn't press it. Seto reaches up to his chest, tail thudding against the couch leg as it uneasily flicks around. Still no second heartbeat. He had hoped... 

SHaking his head, Seto gives one last twist to the cube, and then-

It pops open.

Ethan sits up from his slumped position and stares down at it. "It opened! Dude, it took long enough, let me see-"

Seto pulls it away from his grabby hands, pulling out the cell phone inside. Ethan pauses at that but again grabs for the open box. He starts putting it back together, fitting the intricate pieces closed. 

Seto doesn't pay him any mind. He studies the old flip phone in his hands. The box had only been  _just_ big enough to hide it, and also keep it sealed inside. Something uneasy worms its way into his gut as he remembers the origin of the cube puzzle. In the confusion of trying to get it to open, he'd almost forgotten where it came from.

Shivers race down his spine as thunder cracks outside. Both he and Ethan look up toward the front window. "Damn," Ethan says, taking another drag as he clicks the last piece back into place. "Didn't know there'd be a storm."

"I guess so," Seto mumbles. He looks back down at the phone and flips it open, which earns Ethan's attention. The angel studies it for a moment before asking what it is.

"It's a cell phone. A really,  _really_ old one, but..." He looks around for the power button and presses it. And to his surprise, and utter dread, the screen lights up. Ethan whistles, impressed. He gets onto his knees to lean closer. After nothing else happens for a moment, he gets up to light the second cigar. 

When he comes back and offers it to Seto, he takes it. As the loading screen fades, and the background on the tiny screen is finally fully on, his heart drops. Something is... wrong. There's no signal, no battery bar- Hell, not even the  _time_ is on the screen. Ethan frowns at the thing. "What, that's it-"

But as he speaks, a message pops up. The number is replaced with 'Unknown Caller'. Seto lets it ring in his hands, ignoring the way Ethan flinches at each loud ring. Seto takes another drag of the cigar and hands it back to Ethan.

When the call isn't answered, there's a moment of pause. Then, a voicemail pops up. This, Seto opens, pressing the buttons. 

Static, for a moment, and then Aza's voice comes through the speakers.  _"Well,"_ he says, voice dry,  _"I see you figured out the little puzzle. As you can see, Seto, this isn't a normal phone. It can make and receive calls, but that's it. Don't try to use it too often, I can't keep the battery going like I am now, these sort of... technological magics, those are tricky to properly maintain. And for the love of god, don't show this to Martin."_

Ethan shares a glance with Seto, eyebrows scrunched together. 

 _"You'll be getting a call soon. Well... Soon, is relative. He can't tell time as we can. Or you, really, because I'm pretty far gone as it is."_ Aza trails off, and they hear someone in the background. He makes a shushing noise, then the sound of a door opening and closing comes through the speakers. Papers shuffle, and then he speaks again.  _"Seto, I've warned you enough. This call you will be getting- It's your last chance. After that... **They** won't be as patient anymore. I recommend you take that call, and do everything He tells you to."_

Then, after a few seconds, they hear him sigh.  _"Well, this is goodbye, for now. And tell Ethan, I know he's listening to this, too, that I said he probably shouldn't be with you at the moment."_

At this, Ethan looks up, eyes wide. He opens his mouth to speak, but the voicemail cuts off with a beep. No mechanical voice, nothing else. It just... ends. Seto slowly, slowly, closes the flip phone, heart hammering in his chest. "Who... Who was that?" Ethan whispers as if anything louder might set something off. "And how did he- How did he know my name, Seto?"

"I don't know." Seto stuffs the phone into his pants pocket, reaching up to rub his eye. "Ethan, I..."

"I'm not leaving." Ethan turns to gather the cards they'd been playing with, and after a moment he starts dealing them out. "Just... Let's wait 'til morning, then we'll ask Martin about all this.

"Okay. Okay, yeah," Seto agrees, picking up his cards.

They play games for a while, eventually moving onto a new game, with dice and chess-like pieces. Ethan doesn't do too well with this one. They smoke the rest of the second cigar and then light the third. Then Ethan slips back into Martin's room and takes two more. As they play, the storm outside grows worse, but the island doesn't move all that much. 

Midway through the third game, there's a knock on the door. The dice still fall from Seto's hand and clatter to the ground, but neither of them is looking at them. Their eyes are trained on the door, and the dark sky behind the window. Lightning flashes, then thunder cracks.

Shivers race right up Seto's back. His wings clatter and he looks toward Ethan, who cautiously returns his glance. "Maybe it's Martin?" Ethan asks quietly.

"I... I don't think Martin would knock. He said he would come in if he had to. He said he didn't want us to let anyone in," Seto replies. He slowly gets up, the board game left forgotten. Ethan follows him to the door, where they both press their ears to it. 

Another couple of knocks sound, clacking against the wood. Both of them jump back. Seto cautiously leans toward the window, but can't see much through the crack of the curtain. He doesn't dare move it, lest that pull attention to him. "Hello?" he calls warily, "Who is it?"

"Hello?"

The voice that responds makes both of them back up. It...  _almost_ sounds normal, but it's strained, and there's this... high whine behind it, unnatural and unnerving. "It's Martin."

Ethan and Seto share a wild glance. "Here, give me a boost up," Ethan says, gesturing to the peephole that neither of them can really reach. Seto kneels down and holds out his hands, letting Ethan get a view of outside.

"I...  _think_ I see someone out there," he whispers. "There's a silhouette. I'm not sure, though."

"I'm out here."

Seto quickly drops Ethan and they back up again. "What do we do-"

"Shh." Seto holds his hand over Ethan's mouth, a horrible, horrible thought occurring to him. "Listen."

"Hello? I'm out here."

Another handful of beats pass, and then whoever is at the door knocks again, this time louder. Like a child slapping their hands on the door. "I'm sure I'm out here. I'm Martin. Listen to me."

Slowly shaking his head, Seto pulls Ethan further away from the door. It's _repeating their words._ "That's not Martin. That's-"

"I want in! I'm out here!"

And then the knocking begins anew, a flurry of pounding hands against the door, all up and down it. Seto lets go of Ethan and races for the couch, scattering their game across the floor. Ethan is right behind him, ducking down behind it.

Heart thundering in his chest, Seto peers up over the side of the couch. "It's repeating what we said," he whispers, horrified. "That's- That's not Martin."

And that's obvious, by now, but he doesn't know what else to say. His mind is still stuck on that fact, for some reason.

"Come out here! Come out here!" The voice grows in intensity until they both have to cover their ears against the shrill wail. It barely sounds like a voice anymore, it instead comes out guttural and animalistic, like a yowl. "I'm out here! I want in. Let  _me IN!_ "

And then, silence. Ethan and Seto sit trembling against each other. Seto swallows and glances up over the couch, blood running cold at the vague silhouette at the window. "Ethan," he whispers, dread settling in his stomach, "Is the kitchen window still open?"

Ethan stiffens beside him, bristling with all the fear that death can offer. He curses and scrambles to his feet, racing for the kitchen. Seto's eyes are trained on the front window, and on the empty space that the figure was just at. "Stop!" he shouts, bolting into a panicked scramble. He grabs Ethan by the back of his shirt and yanks him toward the basement, just as the window screen snaps and is shredded apart. 

"I _want **in**_!"

Tripping over each other, they manage to get to the basement. Seto has to pause to close and lock the door, and he sees a lurching, hunched-over figure moving impossibly fast toward them. Two bright, blank eyes glow at him, and he can't move.

And then Ethan slams the door shut for him, and he fumbles with the lock. The creature slams against the door, howling. The whole frame rattles under its weight as it starts pounding onn the door again.

They scrambles all the way downstairs. Seto blindly shuts the heavy storm door closed, locking the bolts. Ethan slides down the wall next to him, and Seto joins. They sit like that for a long, long time.

Whatever  _it_ is, they can hear it running around upstairs. Like a child throwing a tantrum. They both flinch when something breaks, and then something heavy and wooden hits one of the walls. Seto tries to think about something like that, but all the tables are nailed to the floor. If it can easily rip a table from the ground, then... What could it do to  _them_?

It doesn't leave for another few hours. Both Seto and Ethan don't relax, until they hear the front door slam open. And then utter, and final, silence.

Ethan lets out a shaky breath, but doesn't move to get up. Neither does Seto.

"Let's just-" His voice doesn't work for a second. Seto clears his throat. "Let's just wait until Martin and Nitram get back."

"Yeah," Ethan mumbles, eyes still wide with fear. "Yeah, let's- Let's wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao you thought this would just be a nice chapter where they hang out all night? you were wrong.


	27. is there anybody out there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song title by pink floyd

The front door is open.

Martin's heart stutters to a stop in his chest as he looks over the porch. Nitram isn't here yet - they'd split up last night to cover more ground, but couldn't find anything. But now-

He takes slow steps toward the porch, eyes wide at the muddy prints all up and down the walls and the floor. The tracks are vaguely human, but he's never seen any person with fingers _that_ long.

Pushing the door open the rest of the way, glancing at the scratches and indents on the wall from the force the door had opened. Going fully into the house, he nearly has to hold himself up on the wall. Everything is trashed. The dining table is across the room, with most of the other furniture tipped over and thrown as well. Handprints are  _everywhere_. 

By the time he reaches the kitchen, there's a lump in his throat. "Hello?" he calls, turning in a circle. "Set- Seto?"

The only reassuring thing is that there's no blood. It's not as promising as he hopes, though, considering how the things... didn't leave much left to clean up. In all the houses he's seen where the attacks took place, only a few blood splatters were evidence that people died. 

Martin calls Seto's name again, this time more frantic. He tips over a few chairs as he rushes around, trying to find anything that could say that the kid's alright. There are board games in the living room, scattered from the couch being thrown out of the way. The butts of cigars are laying around, as well as a half-burnt one. He doesn't pay them much mind, kicking up cards as he races to his room. The door is open, and everything is tossed around there as well. More prints. The closet door is closed, but it's empty other than his things.

He shouts Seto's name again as he races upstairs, searching Nitram's bedroom and the kid's. Those are untouched, so he combs through them more thoroughly. Checks under beds, the closets, even behind the dressers. Anywhere a fledgling - No, two fledglings - might be able to squeeze into and hide.

But there's nothing. No trace of Seto or Ethan, other than the uneaten food on the stove and the abandoned games. 

What had Martin told him? If something happened, what had he told him? Don't open the door- That obviously wasn't a rule they followed.

He leaps over the banister and the wood floor cracks under his weight when he lands on it. No, the door was pulled open from the inside. Claw marks gouge the wood around the handle. The thing opened it from the inside, so-

Martin looks over to the kitchen, heart sinking at the torn window screen, and the muddy prints marking the counters. It came in through the window. They were at the living room when it happened, probably, so-

He stops and calls Seto's name again, but the following silence is only filled with his desperate gulps of air. He looks over the tracks from the window again, following them to-

The basement.

"Oh, god," he hisses, racing for it, only to find it locked from the inside. A charge of magic that makes his hair frizz, and it's blown open. There's a shriek from downstairs and he races to the storm door, banging on it. "Seto, it's me. Let me in, are you okay?"

Silence. But if he strains his ears, he hears whispering. "Let me in, Seto- Are you alright? Is Ethan with you?"

Finally, he hears footsteps. Still, they're quiet. He bites his tongue and thinks for a moment, then hits the door. "Seto, please, it's gone. Ethan, is he alright?"

Maybe they're injured? He doesn't think they'd be able to get away once that thing had them, but it's possible. The thought of the two kids bleeding out in the basement makes his blood go cold, and he quickly starts another spell. "Get away from the door, I'm coming in."

And it's slung open. He aims the blast over their heads, bursting the light fixture. Seto stumbles back, eyes wide. They stand there for a moment, then Martin grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him close, looking into the room over his head. Ethan is standing further back, eyes wide in fear. The emergency lights are on in the basement, casting soft glows over the three of them. "Are you okay?" he asks, pushing Seto back, looking over for- For gashes, or bruises. There's nothing, other than the tangy sweet scent of silverwillow. 

"It- It came in through the window. I'm sorry, I didn't think- I thought it- I- I'm sorry about the mess-"

Martin looks from Seto over to Ethan, then back again. "No, that's- That's not what matters. You're alive. You're uninjured. Both of you, right?"

At Ethan's shaky nod and Seto's hesitant confirmation, Martin nods, and releases his shoulders. "Good. Good."

He takes a breath, then turns back to them. "Ethan, I want you to go home and warn your friends, alright? Make sure they stay in their own storm shelter for the night. And Seto, you stay here, as well. Go on and gather some things to stay down here, clean up, whatever. But it'll be back."

At the kids' panicked glances, he continues, "It's not going to be happy you got away from it. It's probably still on the island. Ethan, avoid the woods. Fly straight home, and don't land no matter what you might hear."

Ethan is pale, the sickly color of his eyes standing out more than usual. At Martin's nod, he slips upstairs. Martin waits a moment before turning back to Seto. "Normally, I'd be mad if you got into my room, but right now that's a matter for another time. For now, I need to know what happened."

[...]

With Seto safely downstairs, along with snacks and drinks and blankets, Martin goes to the forge. It takes him a while to find them. They're in the very back of the shop, stuffed under floorboards.

The talons aren't rusty, not yet. He's sort of taken care of them throughout the years.

Pulling the left one out, and then reaching further into the hole to pry out the other, Martin notices with disdain that the joints creak as he accidentally moves them. Sighing, he takes them up to the work table, sitting heavily down in the stool. Nitram would be back soon, and he'd left a note on the door to meet him in the shop. He should be able to help.

In the meantime, Martin works on the right foot, considering he kicks stronger with that leg. The blades need sharpening, but other than unused joints and mice-bits along the leather, they're in working order. The main problem is the straps. The ones that should wrap around his leg are mostly broken and stiff. And, after carefully testing their flexibility and having one snap in his hands, he decides he'll have to just redo most of the leather.

Sighing, he gets up, turning around to find Nitram already back, pushing his way into the workshop. He glances concernedly at Martin, looking somewhat frazzled. "Seto? Ethan?"

"They're alright. I sent Ethan home. The kid's in the basement." Martin jabs a thumb behind him. When Nitram's eyes land on the talons, he frowns. "It'll be back, Nitram. And I have a pretty good idea of what this thing is. The kid said it copied their words. Couldn't open the door, but it came in through the open kitchen window."

Nitram mutters a curse and goes to the worktable, picking up one of the blades he'd taken off. After a moment, Martin hears the familiar sound of Nitram taking something apart. He turns back around with the leather strips and goes about measuring his legs. "It'll be back. What it did to the house was just a temper tantrum. It's pissed it didn't snack on some fledglings last night."

His brother pauses and pulls open a drawer, tugging out the oil can and a soft rag. He starts working the oil into the joints, digging into the grooves and making sure they work properly. A few are getting stuck. "Do you think it's still on the island?"

"Probably. That's why you're gonna go and stay at Ethan's house tonight, and I'll stay with Seto." 

At this, Nitram shoots him a glare. "Why don't we call backup?"

Martin shakes his head. "I- I don't want anyone else that close to our house. Baki's still out of commission, and Simon-"

"Simon would help. Baki can't fight anyway."

"Do you think he'll be happy we brought his boyfriend into this fight? The more people that can get injured, the worse, because Baki can't do anything. So if we got hurt, we'd be going to some other healer. And, frankly? I don't trust anyone other than him. So let's keep that option open, huh?"

Nitram blows out a sigh and shakes his head, but stays silent. They both glance out the window every once in a while, to check the time. Martin makes quick work of the leather, and straps them onto his legs to test the size. A bit tight, but for now it'll work. "Sorry, we don't have yours."

"I have my knife. You need these more than I do." Nitram kneels down and Martin kicks off his shoe, then holds out his leg. Nitram buckles the talons on,making sure to jab Martin in the soft spot under his ankle. "Break them, and I kill you."

Wincing at the jab, Martin shakes his foot, watching in satisfaction as the talons move as they had, all those years ago. He tenses his muscles, rotating his leg to watch the claws spread outward. "Now I just need the tail back."

At this, Nitram snorts and pokes the inside of his knee to get him to put his foot out. "Think we could manage a mechanical one?"

The idea hadn't really occurred to him. It would require a new port, or maybe an extension of the portlines down their back... But that's a lot of weight to attach to the wings, and the feathers need to move individually. A new type of port would probably be the best option. "Maybe," he says eventually, trying out both of the talons. Hell, he hadn't walked around in these for a while. Takes a bit of getting used to. 

"A new port, instead of something else," Nitram mutters, already sketching something out on paper. Martin promises silently to look over the diagrams later, when he can actually walk without tripping over metal. But they're clunky, and they don't fit right. Frustrated, he tugs one off and tosses it aside. "Sorry to waste time," he says when he catches Nitram's look. "They're not like they used to be."

His brother sighs and shakes his head, silently continuing his drawing. They're both quiet for a while, then stop when they hear a voice calling them.

"Hello? Is anyone... there?"

Nitram stands up, knocking the stool over in his haste. His wings rattle and he glances wildly toward Martin, who is slowly heading for the window. He slides the shutters closed and looks over to find Nitram doing the same to the only other window. "The door?" he whispers, and Nitram heads to the front. He whistles back. Closed. 

"Is there anyone... in there?" The voice calls again, this time Martin can hear it pacing around the wall to his right. Nitram joins him at the window, feathers bristled.

"I'm out here. I want in!"

Martin silently curses their luck and peers out through the slats at the window. It's still daylight. That's... That's not right. He shares a glance with Nitram and can tell that he's thinking the same thing. "We need to get to Seto," Martin whispers.

"Right. Think we can outfly it?"

"Seto and Ethan got to the basement after it broke into the house. If they can run that fast, then yeah. I think we can."

"Run!" It screams, and there's a pounding near the other window. "I'm out here! Is there anyone there?"

Martin glances over to see Nitram creeping toward the front of the shop. He grabs a hammer from the counter and waves Martin over. Pressing a finger to his lips, Nitram raises his arm with the hammer. Taking the hint, Martin hurries toward the door. He glances back, seeing Nitram raise three fingers. Two, one-

Nitram hurls the hammer at the wall just as Martin opens the door. Together, they burst out, hearing the thing scramble to the far wall, where the hammer struck. It shrieks when it realizes they went out the other way.

But they're already in the air, spiraling up and away. Nitram gestures for him to go on, flipping over to fly backward for a moment. Martin glances under his below him, but doesn't see anything. 

Sliding to a halt outside the porch, he races in, holding the door open just long enough for Nitram to rush in as well. Slam the door, lock it. "Check all the windows," he says, already heading for the other rooms.

Nitram races upstairs; Martin can hear him shuffling around the rooms, locking all the windows. They meet back up in the kitchen. "What are we going to do about this?" Nitram asks, gesturing to the broken window.

"I have a plan. You go to Ethan and the other kids, make sure they're alright." Martin rattles his wings, unsheathing blades and making sure they all work. "I'll handle it."

Nitram looks hesitant for a long moment. But finally, he sighs and looks away. Another second and he meets Martin's eyes. "You be careful. We're all we got."

"I will. Don't worry." Martin goes to the door, quietly unlocking it. He presses his ear to the wood for a moment, then nods at Nitram. And silently, slowly, he shoves it open. Nitram slips out, and he shuts it behind him. Pauses for a moment until he hears Nitram's wingbeats take him away.

"Alright," he mutters, rubbing his face. "Alright."

[...]

The whetstone slides easily across his feathers. It's the loudest sound in the house, but if Martin strains his ears and really tries to listen, he can hear Seto moving around downstairs. He's been waiting for hours, in utter silence. Just...  _waiting_.

Pushing the stone along one of the blades in his lap, he glances up to the kitchen window. The night sky stares back at him, a blank void in the middle of everything. There aren't many clouds out, but the stars and moon are dim. It had rained the night he'd been gone, and it might rain again. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a knocking at the door.

Taking a deep breath, he slides the blade back into its sheath, popping it into its joint. The knocking stops for a moment, and then, "I'm out here! Let me in!"

Martin holds back a chuckle. Predictable. He still doesn't turn to face the door. Still sitting on the dining table, facing the window, he sets the whetstone aside and waits.

The thing knocks again, this time pounding on the door. It rattles the frame and locks. Martin doesn't look over, eyes still trained on the window. If his hunch is right, this could save his ass.

Another handful of moments pass, with the creature getting riled and angry that it isn't being let it. And just as the pounding reaches a crescendo, something moves the beads he'd hung along the window.

Martin is up on his feet with a wing coming around before he even realizes he's doing it. The thing - not the same one, he was right and there are two - howls in pain when he hits it. Martin backs up, staring wide-eyed at the footprints hurrying around the kitchen. He sees the mud caking its legs, and part of its underside, but other than that, it's like there's nothing there.

It shrieks at him and leaps again, the handprints disappearing. He instinctively brings his wings up in front of him, sliding back when it slams into them. Stumbling over something on the floor, Martin quickly pumps his wings to balance himself. It slams into his middle and he unsheaths his blades. With one swift motion, he slams the blades into it. The metal slides easily into its invisible flesh. 

Its dying scream is interrupted by its friend rushing in through the window. Martin doesn't notice it until it's on top of him, claws scraping over his shoulders and neck. They get dangerously close to his jugular and he calls on the magic, flinging it off of him. Panting, Martin paces in a circle, looking around wildly for the handprints. This one seems smarter, moving quietly about. It's only when he hears the basement door jiggle that he whips around to find fresh prints pacing by the door. Launching himself over the couch, he slams feet-first into it, trying to pin it with his wings. But it's fast, and he hits the ground instead of it. Prints rush around him, running back and forth. He'd washed most of the prints away earlier, but now it's just making more tracks, trying to confuse him.

On a whim, he slings a wing out, blades gleaming, and catches it in a leg. It topples, mud smearing the floor, then turns and- The prints disappear. Martin curses and just barely brings up his defense in time. The metal groans under the thing's weight and he stumbles back, bringing magic up and jolting it away from him again. He sees the handprints race up the wall and onto the ceiling, and then they're gone-

It drops right on top of him. The breath is knocked from his lungs when he hits the floor, and he's left gasping, using only one wing to try and keep the swiping, muddy claws from goring him. Taking as much air in as he can, he heaves it off of him, rolling with it. He reaches across to his right wing, grabbing a blade. ANd, with it pinned, he raises the blade up, and spears downward. The first strike misses, but the second doesn't. Or the third, or fifth. By the time the thing stops squirming, Martin is soaked in an oily, black substance.

Panting, he sits back on his knees, shutting his eyes to wipe some of the creature's blood from his face. When he opens his eyes, its carcass lay under him, the invisibility fading away with its life.

"Huh," he says breathlessly, "I was right. Ilicho."

Its long jaws are vaguely reminiscent of a horse, though its mouth splits all the way up to its earholes. It has two holes where eyes should be, but rather look as if it's just got the sockets. Its body is somewhat shaped like a man's, though there are no legs. Where they should be are only stumps. Emaciated and wiry-thin, but strong enough to knock him off his feet.

Why a winter spirit would be out in the summertime, though?  _That_ is what worries him. Something's up. 

With a pained groan, he gets to his feet, using the blade as leverage. Yeah, it got him. Nitram will have his head for getting injured. He hobbles to the kitchen, reaching up and starting to replace the beads that had gotten torn off. There might be more. And if there are, he would need the beads hanging up. 

That taken care of, he pulls open the cabinet under the sink. Martin casts looks up to the window as he grabs out a few medical supplies. Nothing much; he can heal it fairly quickly with magic, but he needs to make sure it's disinfected. Can't get anything bad trapped in him and have his wounds heal over that.

Settling down in the one chair that isn't tipped over, Martin starts unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it past his arms so it hangs on his wingports. On second thought, he pops off his wings and gently sets them aside, wincing. It takes him a bit to disinfect the scratches. None of them seem too deep, but they'll probably leave faint scars for a few weeks. He pauses at the scarring from his fight with Nathaniel.

And then there's that... plaguing fear. What would have happened if Martin hadn't-

No. He's not going to think of that. Won't think of the life that would have wrought on Seto, and won't think about how Nitram-

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, pulling magic toward him to start healing. Skin itching as it starts closing up, he stands and starts cleaning things up. The handprints are the first to go, with a few buckets of water and a mop, and then magic to dry it all out. Once he's done with the general clean-up and all that's left is to rearrange furniture, he goes and pulls on a new shirt. When another few hours pass uneventfully, Martin sighs and heads downstairs. He calls out to Seto, knocks twice on the door, then pushes the door open. "Hey, I think they're gone for tonight, but you should-"

Seto stares up at him with wide, teary eyes. His hand is over his mouth, and a weirdly shaped phone is held to his ear. Martin picks up a voice on the other end, and Seto's voice cracks when he says, "Martin?"

And Martin can just  _tell_ that Seto's not talking to him. He shakes his head, wipes his eyes, and tries to collect himself. A moment later, he pulls the phone from his ear and shuts it with a click. He tugs his knees closer and waves at Martin. "Just- I need- I need a few minutes."

Martin is left to stand there, wondering what to do. Comfort him? Give him some time? Should he be a friend, or- Hell, he's not a parent, that was something just to... smooth things over. They're friends, and friends are there for each other, but so are parents-

"Are you sure?" he asks, but Seto doesn't look up from his knees. He nods his head, hugging himself close. Martin stays put for a moment longer, and Seto lifts his head. " _Leave_ , Martin!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" He backs out of the room and closes the door, making sure not to slam. And then he hesitates at the sound of sobbing. God, what had the kid been listening to? Phones don't work up here, Martin knows that. Something about... signal, or something, he's not sure. And that  _was_ a phone, as far as he could tell. Albeit a bit of a weird one, but... 

Shaking his head, he continues upstairs, mulling over what just happened. A recording, or a video maybe? Maybe it's about his brother? 

Martin looks up to find himself outside. The sun is setting on the horizon, making the cloud they're passing through glow gold and crimson. He sighs and continues to an edge, scooting until he can hang both legs over. Sitting there and watching the sunrise, he just... Doesn't think.

The colors are pretty, though unnerving. He's very rarely seen such a bright crimson. They're in for one  _hell_ of a storm.

A shape blots out the colors for a bit and he looks up, watching Nitram spiral above him for a while. He waves and can see the vague movement of Nitram waving back. Everything's okay. Nitram would have landed by now if he'd been attacked as well. 

Nitram drops down next to him, sighing and sitting at the ledge as well. "Anything happen?"

"I was right," Martin says, jabbing a thumb back toward the house. "Ilicho. And several of them. The guy from last night brought a friend."

Nitram watches him drop his arm with a scrutinizing gaze. "Are you injured?"

"Not bad." Martin winces when Nitram strikes him in the shoulder. "They're already mostly healed, but I stopped using magic in case another one came back."

"It's all clear at the fledglings' house. They're still playing games downstairs, I'm pretty sure."

Martin nods, but falls silent. He stares out to the sky and ocean, and sighs. "Seto's upset." Nitram doesn't need to voice his question of  _why_. "I don't know. I went downstairs just a little while ago, and he was... listening to this phone? I haven't seen it before, but maybe it's Jordan's."

"His brother, right?" Shit, that's right, Nitram never even met Jordan.

"Yeah," Martin says, but he can't get the way Seto said his name out of his head. It just didn't feel  _right_. It was like a question, not a voicing of Martin's presence. A questio not aimed at  _him_. If Seto was just listening to a video or something, then why would he say his name like that?

"There's something else," Nitram says, jostling his arm. "What happened?"

"I... I'm not even sure. I'll talk to Seto about it later, but..." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure."

"Well, tell me when you figure it out, alright?" Nitram pats his shoulder and stands. "I'm going to go clean the house. Yell at me if there's anything you need."

"Yeah," Martin mutters, mostly to himself. Nitram goes back inside and leaves Martin to sit and watch the paling sunrise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art done by me. there's ya boy martin


	28. the hurricane's gaze

"I was planning on refurbishing anyway."

Nitram huffs a laugh and shakes his head, picking up another broken chair piece. He tosses the wooden leg into the furnace, watching the flames start to eat away from it. "Yeah, well, I-"

A clap of thunder interrupts him, making both of them flinch. It's dark out, clouds blocking the sun, even though it's well before noon. Nitram sighs and looks over at Martin, hesitating at the blank look on his face. Tentatively, he asks, "We got the weights fixed, right?"

Martin glances over at him, and it's _dull dull dull_ and not at all Martin. Then he shakes his head, seeming to snap out of whatever spell he'd been in. "I think so?"

"Well, let's hope so." Martin has been acting more like himself, lately, and it's leaps and bounds better than how he'd been in the hospital. But sometimes, those bad days are just _there_ , and Nitram feels like he can't do anything to help. He glances toward the kitchen window, where they had just taped it up. Hopefully, that will hold. He brushes past Martin to start locking the cabinets. "Have you talked to Seto yet?"

Martin's silence is the only answer he needs. Nitram sighs and shakes his head, locking the ice box. 

"Well, we're all gonna be stuck in the basement anyway. Might as well do it then." 

Deciding not to argue about it, Nitram continues on locking up. Activates a few sigils, shuts the storm boards on the windows, then gives their bedrooms a once-over. He hesitates at Seto's room, then pushes it open, reminding himself that Seto is upstairs.

He's not. 

Seto freezes, arm shoved into his backpack. He stares at Nitram with wide eyes, feathers clinking together in a warning. He probably doesn't know he's giving the signal off.

"Seto? What are you doing?"

"I- I-" Seto backs up, glancing around quickly. Nitram follows his gaze, finding the room somewhat trashed. Clothes are strewn around, as are important valuables. Seto's amulet sits on the bed, along with a weird box- phone, a weird phone. Maybe the one Martin was talking about.

Lightning flashes, as bright as Seto's eyes, and then a resounding _boom_ of thunder follows. It's then that he notices the window is open, letting wind and rain rush in. Seto shifts, tail flicking back and forth uneasily. His whole body language is screaming  _danger, danger,_ but Nitram isn't even sure where the problem is. He opens his mouth to call for Martin, and in the split second he turns toward the door, he hears Seto scramble for-

For the window.

He shouts and chases after him, but Seto already had the window open and he'd been ready. He snatches the amulet and the phone up and flings himself outside. 

"Seto!" he calls, racing to the window. He slams against the windowsill, wishing he'd kept his wings on. "Martin, Martin!" 

He races from the room to find Martin halfway up the stairs. They share a panicked glance and Martin races for the door, flinging it open and then jumping out into the downpour. His wings glint in the lightning, and then he's gone. Nitram, meanwhile, races for his wings, quickly popping them on and following him outside.

The wind is deadly, he notices, as he's ripped sideways. He quickly swivels part of his left wing and flattens out, squinting through the rain. The storm is worse than the one that Martin crashlanded in. Not yet a hurricane, but  _close_.

And Seto's just begun to fly, he hasn't even been  _in_ a storm, period. Calling the kid's name, he meets up with Martin, furiously fighting the winds to stay in the air. "I can't see him!" 

Martin glances at him, eyes glowing wild with alarm. He slews left and they separate, both calling Seto's name. Nitram drops below the cloudline for a second, raising an arm against the rain. He scans left, right, then spins to look behind him. And there, far below, near to the ocean, is a glint of silver. He whistles for Martin, and dives. The replying whistle is drowned out by another clap of thunder. 

Seto is barely hanging in the sky, getting tossed this way and that by the storm. He doesn't even notice Nitram until he's grabbing a wingtip, then folding his right wing and pulling Seto in. 

The kid kicks, screaming unintelligibly. In the storm, Nitram can't make out much. He whistles for Martin again, cursing when a gust of wind takes him lower in the sky. He's never getting back to the islands at this rate. But the ocean is certain death, and he can't spot any of the Ground close enough to them to fly to. Not with Seto struggling, not with his wings catching on every gust of wind. 

But then Martin is there, pulling out of his dive just in time to not smack into them. He wrestles Seto's other wing closed, despite the kid's objections, and then- Nitram shivers at the  _pop_ as he pulls it from Seto's shoulder. He screams and thrashes, eyes wild, but then Martin is pulling his other wing off and he whistles to  _rise_.

Seto is limp in his arms as he hurries back toward the island, Martin just ahead of him. Nitram nearly can't land on the island, until Martin puts Seto's wings inside and comes out to help him with landing. He drops Seto into his arms, then drops onto the ground. 

Thank god Seto doesn't fight going back into the house. But he doesn't go much further than the door; he instead slumps down against the wall, shivering, eyes shut tight. His backpack is unclipped and tossed aside. Martin growls, pacing around for a second before turning to Seto. "What the hell were you  _thinking_? It's storming out, you could have died!"

Seto doesn't look up, just hugs himself tighter. Nitram comes up to Martin, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Martin-"

"No. No, he can't just do that kind of shit. Seto, you realize that there's a fucking  _hurricane_ outside? You could have drowned, or been struck by lightning, or- All because you decided to, what, up and leave? What the hell, Seto, you-"

"I ne-need to go!" Seto shouts, suddenly, one hand gesturing out. He lifts his head slightly, putting his hand over his face. "I need to- to go! You don't- You don't understand."

Nitram's grip tightens on Martin's shoulder when it looks like he's about to go off again. Thunder deafens the three of them for a moment, followed with yet another strike of lightning and its accompanying roll of sound from the clouds. "Why, then?" Martin says quietly, though his voice holds the same amount of anger in it. Seto flinches, and fumbles for the backpack he'd set away. He unzips one of the pockets and pulls out the phone, flipping it open. Nitram can just catch a glimpse of what looks like a countdown before he flips it shut. 

"I just- I just need to," he says, fiddling with the phone. Nitram has half a mind to take it from him, but Martin is the one to act on that. He takes the two necessary steps forward and snatches it from Seto's hand. 

"Hey! I need that!" Seto starts up, but Martin is already pacing away, leaving wet splotches across the recently-cleaned floor. His wings are rattling angrily. Nitram holds a hand out, stopping Seto. This is the same kind of fury that made Martin crashland in the first place. 

Then Martin stops walking. "What's this counting down to?"

Seto doesn't answer. He doesn't look at either of them, stark white eyes fixed on one of the boarded up windows. Nitram sighs and grabs him by the shoulders, leading him to the fireplace to sit and warm up. "Stay," he commands, leaving no room to argue before he goes over to Martin. He's only seen Seto's phone in passing when the kid had first gotten here and he'd snatched to take it apart. He hadn't gotten too far, so he's still not all that sure on how the thing worked. Something about a signal, or whatever. 

Martin, seemingly giving up, growls and passes the phone to him. Nitram looks over the screen, squinting at the artificial blue light. Looking at the countdown gives him... a dreadful, uneasy feeling. Like he's waiting in the hospital room for Martin to wake up.

**04:23:46**

The last digit is obviously seconds. Four and a half hours left, but  _what_ is it counting toward? "Seto," he says, turning around to find him still sitting near the fire. "Please tell us."

"I can't." There's this defeated undertone in his voice that makes the hairs on Nitram's neck stands up. He shares a glance with Martin, and it's obvious they're both getting the same feeling. The dread. "I just..." Seto trails off for a moment, then hikes his shoulders. "I just need to leave."

"You can't," Martin says, voice sharp. "Not in this, and not while you're still just a fledgling."

"But I'm not!" Seto shouts back, and finally stands up. He's still sopping wet, and his tail flicks water drops each time it swipes through the air. Nitram bristles. "I'm not some fucking-  _kid_ , you guys know that right? Down on the ground, I'm nearly an adult. That's it. We grow up, and at eighteen, we leave, we find a job and a house and maybe a family, but I can't do that here, can I?"

"Seto-"

"No." Seto points at Nitram, effectively cutting him off. "I grew up as a human. My  _mom_ raised me. You two-" He sweeps his finger toward Martin. "-are not raising me. You're not my parents- I haven't even seen any  _paperwork_ for the adoption, or anything vaguely  _legal_. You're friends, who have taken me in, and now I want to leave. And I'm going to."

Silence. Nitram struggles to figure out something to say. He glances over at Martin to find that his brother is already turning away. Nitram recognizes the gesture he's going through, hands rising up over his head and gripping the middle of his horns. Before he can burst out whatever he's debating not to say, Nitram turns to Seto. "Seto, I am... sorry, that we overlooked your childhood on the ground. I am sorry if we've been-" He searches for a word. The first one that comes to mind isn't in a language Seto would recognize, so he settles. "Babying you. In both the east and west, the children rarely leave before their fifties. In the east, it's worse. Over here, families usually drift apart, but where we come from- My other two brothers, well past their adolescence, were still living with us."

Seto looks like he's taking it with a grain of salt, going by his expression. His pupils, pinprick and barely visible, flit over to Martin. Nitram's brother is still struggling to keep his mouth shut, still pacing around in small circles. Nitram doesn't have to look at him to tell what his thoughts are; his angry huffs and sighs are all he needs. Martin's pissed. Nitram doesn't blame him.  _They_ were raised to show respect to elders,  _especially_ ones a few centuries their senior. 

But Seto wasn't. And that's what Nitram has to remind himself of. He feels like he's got a disadvantage. Martin got a chance to see how Seto would more or less behave on the ground; Nitram didn't. Nitram barely knew his brother's name before this morning. "It's normal for angels," Nitram continues, but Seto sighs, slumping, the fight leaving him.

"That's just it. I'm not an..." But he trails off, rolling his shoulders; no doubt feeling the still-new scrape of metal against muscles and bone. "I wasn't raised as one, anyway," he finishes. Martin seems to be done pacing, having mostly cooled off. He still remains silent as he tosses the weird phone onto the couch, where Seto can grab it. Which he does. Nitram catches a glimpse of the timer.  **04:11:17**

Just seeing it again makes him fidget nervously. "Seto, what is the timer for?"

Seto looks away, closing the phone and setting it on the coffee table. They both look over when Martin pulls his wings off and gathers them, and Seto's, and heads to his room. "Wait, I-I can get those back?"

"Of course." Nitram frowns at him. "He only took them off because they could have gotten caught in the wind. A flightless angel is a dead one. We would never take them from you-"

"Then why is he-"

"Oh. Because rain rusts metal, and he's making sure they weren't hurt in the flight." Nitram starts pulling his own wings out, going around the couch to spread one on the table. Seto glances over them. Maybe he'll be interested in wingsmithing when he's older and has to choose a job. He points at the elbow joint, then runs his finger up the forearm to jab at a few sigils. The outer plating pops open and he gestures to the many wires and gears and pistons. "See, it's not just the outside metal that makes them functional. Of course, the feathers and all that is important. But how do you think those spines are shot out? Or how the feathers bend like natural ones?"

"I didn't really think about it." Seto looks over the insides, then shakes his head. For a little while, Nitram shows him the inside workings, trying to just... let the situation settle. But Seto flips open the phone, and three hours blink back at them, still counting down. 

Seto sucks in a breath and quietly asks, "Do you believe in any god? Or... any higher power?"

Nitram sits back. Taps his fingers across the wing. This isn't a conversation he wants to have while sober. He's tempted to get up and grab a bottle, but decides against it. He is silent for a long moment. Eventually, he says, "No. No, I don't. Why?"

Seto looks away, to the phone. "Just... some things Aza has said. They've gotten to me."

"Aza? That one human we found in the hospital?" Nitram frowns at this. Why would that man get brought up in all of this? As far as he knows, the last they saw of him was when they'd all scared him off. Magic-wielder or not, one human couldn't take several angels on at once. He'd be foolish to show back up. That, or cocky. But he glances at the timer -  **02:57:49** \- and there's that instinctive want to get  _away_. Flee from something he doesn't even know. "What did he say?"

Seto shakes his head. "Just random shit. I... Maybe he's just trying to scare me. He wants me away from you two. Mostly Martin."

Nitram bites back his confusion, letting worry give way. "Has he come around again?"

At this, Seto looks up, surprised. "Martin didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Before Seto can answer, Martin's door opens. He'd probably been listening in. But his eyes are dull-blank, and he passes through the living room to go to the kitchen. He'd changed into more comfortable pants, probably leaving his other clothes to hang up to dry. Scars, only months-old, still run jagged across his back and chest. Nitram swallows concern and frowns at the back of his head. "What didn't you tell me, Martin?"

At this, Martin pauses, leaning on the counter. A moment passes and, as he puts the kettle onto the stove, he shrugs. Back still to them, he says, "The day Seto started flying. We went to the hospital, and Baki had deathbell outbreaks. he was in solitary. As I was talking to him, that human visited. That's all."

Seto frowns over at Martin, as if to say  _That's all?_ Nitram has the same thought. He huffs and starts to get up, but then Martin turns around to glare at him, pinning him down with just his eyes. After a moment, he turns back around, reaching up to grab the cup from the cabinet. "That's all, Nitram."

"Aza said Martin shouldn't be around us. He said the same to me. He wants me gone!" Seto exclaims, finally seeming to get fed up with Martin. "That's why I have to leave, I don't- I talked to this- This other guy, and he told me-"

Martin hisses and slams the cup down, and it  _shatters_ , raining glass shards across the counter and floor. He's silent for a long moment, shoulders hunched up. 

Before Martin or Seto could do or say something stupid, Nitram cuts in. "Apparently I'm missing out on all this, and that's fine. Seto, you said someone told you that you had to leave?"

"Aza, at first. He... warned me several times. But- Nothing ever really  _came_ of that, except for him attacking me in the hospital. But- But I got this call, and-" He reaches for the phone, and visibly hesitates. "Nitram, didn't we have, like, three hours left?"

"Just about," Nitram replies, reaching for it and taking it from his hands. He nearly drops the phone when  **00:19:07** stares back at him. "I- We had three hours," he whispers, and it's like someone is trying to hit him with a sledgehammer. Heart picking up, he glances toward Martin, who is quietly pouring himself a coffee. He takes a deep gulp and sets it down on the counter. 

"Nothing will happen," Martin says, as the countdown reaches fifteen minutes. 

"But what if something does?" Seto asks quietly. Nitram gets to his feet, followed by the kid. "I- What if something happens?"

Nitram closes the wing up and pops both of them back in. He looks to Martin.

"We'll fight," Martin says. "Like we always have. Seto, your wings are in my room. Would you put them on and grab mine as well?"

Seto hesitates, then runs off. The timer is at ten minutes, now. "How do you know nothing will happen?"

Martin stares down in his coffee, then looks up with a furrowed brow. There's something else he's keeping, Nitram realizes. "What?" Nitram asks, anxiety building in his throat. "What happened?"

"I have a feeling something will," Martin says. "And we won't like whatever comes our way. Just this... gut feeling, I guess. Or this voi head telling me to get the hell out of here."

Seto comes back into the room hauling Martin's wingset in. As Martin puts them on, Nitram notices the dark circles under his eyes. Sure, they didn't sleep through the night. But Martin should have been getting enough rest. Did Nitram just not  _notice_? He feels horrible, for one second.

Then he turns to Seto, shaking those feelings away. "Like Martin said. If something  _does_ happen, fight. Use your magic if you must. And-"

A shrill noise sounds out. All three turn to the phone, which is vibrating and ringing. The numbers are flashing zero. Seto hesitantly walks to the coffee table and picks it up, pressing a button to get it to stop. He shares a glance with them. Nitram looks to Martin, then around the house.

And everything is  _still_. There is no lightning, no thunder. It's the eye of the storm, the center, the calm.

Nitram takes a breath.

And holds it.


	29. Chapter 29

Seto hears Nitram suck in a breath, and hold it. Martin is looking around, tense, his wings mantling slightly.

A few seconds pass. Then a minute, Nitram finally sighs, shifting slightly on his feet. That's when Seto realizes he has been holding his breath, and he quickly gasps for air. A moment passes, and Martin walks toward them. "I guess-"

The windows shatter and Seto collapses, hands rising to his ears. He doesn't realize he's screaming, until Nitram is shaking him, trying to get him back up on his feet. He can see the twins talking, but can't hear anything, can't hear  _anything_ other than that resounding note. Like a ship horn, like a tornado siren, wailing and ringing in his ears, bouncing in his head, and he can't  _think_. The house is shaking and Martin pulls him up off the ground. 

Seto flails, wings smacking out, and drops to the ground when he catches Martin across the face. He sobs, tears blurring his vision, begging them to make the noise stop, god make the noise stop, please-

And then it does, and everything is silent, and still. He's on the floor- Where's Nitram and Martin? He looks up, around, to find them gone, to find the  _house_ gone. It's just- black, it's all gone. There's nothing there. He shakily gets to his feet, sobs still uncontrollably making his chest heave. Everything is just...  _blank_.

He takes a shaky breath, but can just feel himself  _slipping_ away. He scrunches his eyes shut, trying to remember his brother's voice, his mother's face, Martin's laugh, Nitram's eyes. Tries to remember where he was, who he is, and what got him here.

But he can't.

He gasps and the tears keep falling, blinding him. He can only stand there and gasp for breath, for life, even though he feels like he's being torn apart, ripped to shreds. He runs a hand over his arms, but it feels disconnected. It doesn't feel real, it's not his own body.

What was his name? Did he ever have one?

Sobbing, heaving and feeling like he'll throw up, he raises his eyes up from the ground that doesn't exist.

Someone is standing there. He squints, reaching up to rub tears from his eyes, only to look down and find that it's blue, it's blood. A breath. He looks back up. He can't make out the person's face, or any distinctive features. No face, no body- Just the vague outline. 

And then it's in front of him, a few inches away. He stumbles back with a scream, dropping to his ass on the- On the ground. There is no floor. It's all just black. He looks back up at the thing, heart hammering in his chest, and in the silence, he can hear the heartbeat. And the one echoing his first. He presses a hand to his chest, to his middle, and nearly laughs at the fact that he's grown the second heart, only to die.

 

**Ȉ̱̱̙̕ ͚̤̥͇̟͗͒̆̊̒w̡̤̃̈̏͟ả̗̝̣̭̔̈́̿ȑ͇̣͆̃͌͢͜n͕̭̭͂͋̊̔ͅẹ̡̙̆̄d̪͇͓̤̾̅̄̓̅͜ ͎̮͔̓͠y̪͇͂̍̍́͢ͅö̧̰̭̦͂̽͠ų̮̖͊̏̊.͈̗̓̆̃͜ ͉͍͖̑̓͝,͋͌ ̤̜̱̅́.̨̧̥̿̐̕ ̧̪̥͂͘͘ ̹̰̱͈̒̌̀͡Ḯ̫̲̇͢͝'̦̙̮̿͊͐͟͝m̺̠̘̅͆ ͈̖̺̓̋̚s̤͍̜͒̾͗̚͢ǫ̹͈͔̒̃̊͡r͚̠̎̍͟͠r̨͍̞̆͊̏y̛͓̟̗̼̖̿͒͞͞**

 

His name is Seto Alikye. He's seventeen years old, born on January 20th, 71023. His mom's name was Kerberos, and his brother was Jordan. He's living with Martin and Nitram. His name is Seto.

The memories rush back like a tidal wave, leaving him dazed and drowning. There's water on his face, running over his eyes and in his mouth and up into his nose and down into his ears. Something  _moves_ him like he's on a roller coaster, going down a hill in the front train. 

Seto's head jerks as his movement stops, and he becomes aware of the pressure around his middle, like someone hugging him too tightly. He can't hear anything, other than a horrible ringing in his ears. He cracks open his eyes as a flash of lightning crackles across the sky, lighting up the world. He goes swinging around again and heaves, vomit clogging his throat for a second as he's shoved downward.

Suddenly, the pressure around his middle is gone, and he's falling. Something metal scrapes against his back and legs - his wings? - and suddenly the pressure is closing around again, pinning his arms to his chest and stomach, and crunching one of the wings to his back. Something punctures his skin, maybe his own metal, and he can  _feel_ it rip, but the pain is far away.

And then he's dropped on the ground with a thud. He lays on his stomach in the mud, struggling to breathe past what feels like broken ribs. Blood gurgles in his lungs and he can't draw in air. 

Something  _screams_ , and it's a blessed noise against the ringing. But it gurgles out, and he's left in silence again.

Then there are hands pushing him over on his side, and pain lances up his back and neck. He wants to move, but can't. His head barely turns and his eyes won't stay open. The rain is a sharp, cold relief on his skin and he gasps like a fish out of water. 

When he finally manages to open his eyes enough to see, Martin is above him. His face is blurry and smeared with blue, but the orange glow from his eyes is bright and terrified. Suddenly there are more flecks, and he realizes that  _he_ is coughing up blood.

Martin's mouth moves, words panicked, but Seto still can't hear him. He coughs again and feels the ribs in his lungs. Extra ones, he isn't human. Not anymore. 

Everything is going black; the echoing heartbeats have fallen back to one, to a smaller one, the newer one. The heart he didn't think would grow. Now it's his only lifeline, the only thing beating to keep his blood going through his veins. It won't matter in a bit, anyway. It has no oxygen to push through his blood. Not with his lungs filling.

He realizes he's drowning and opens his eyes again. There's a horrible glow, and he can see the magic floating around. He can't move his arm, but he  _reaches_ for them and pulls them close.

And like that, he's seeing two different perspectives. His, looking up dazed at Martin, and then  _Martin's_. The panic and the grief is overwhelming, making him woozy, and suddenly he can only see from Martin's eyes as his own close. He can feel Martin's magic  _coursing_ , like currents, like tsunamis, and realizes Martin is trying to heal him.

Martin spares a glance upward, and that's when Seto sees the- The- the  _thing_.

It doesn't seem to have a solid shape. Arms sprout from its body at will, dragging itself across the ground like a centipede. Its head swivels toward them, away from where Nitram is struggling to fight it. It has one eye in the center of its circular, flat face. No mouth, no nose. It's flat, and sleek, like a leech. But it moves silently, despite its enormous size. Silent and  _deadly_ , and it reaches for them.

Nitram flashes through the sky, wings slicing the arm clean off. He backwings to avoid its retaliation. But he's slow, and hurt, and blood is pouring from his wounds, mixing with the rain.

Martin looks away, back toward Seto. His hand reaches out, presses to Seto's- To his neck. (He can vaguely feel it.)

Martin swears, and that's when Seto realizes that he's been talking the whole time, that thunder has been crashing and the Beast is screaming, and Nitram is yelling and metal is clashing.

"-no, no, Seto, please, no, not like this, oh god please not like this. Seto, Seto." Martin says his name like a sob, like a prayer. Seto feels the-magic-that-isn't-his fluctuate, pulling back momentarily, and then electricity crackles and there is a  _crack_ and Seto is looking up at Martin again, his heart stuttering in its shell, but he's also looking down at himself. 

And then the healing magic is back, swooping in, trying to keep his heart beating as Martin stitches his lungs closed, pulls blood up out from his mouth, and  _shoves_ the ribs back in place, sealing them over, gluing them back together. 

"Please, god, please, save him, I can't- Seto, I'm so sorry, I can't- I-" 

Martin's rambling doesn't stop. Seto is losing himself, though, and everything from Martin's perspective is fading.

His magic finally gives out and he's wrenched from Martin, left to stare blankly upward, left to feel Martin struggle to heal him, left to die like this.

He can't even say anything. Can't raise a hand, can't even make eye contact, can't tell him goodbye, can't do anything.

Lightning crackles across the sky. The rain pours. He misses his mom.

He draws in a wavering breath and

 

 

 

 

 


	30. [____]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [____]'s POV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     `̥̗͕̩̔̓͗̚

 

 

 

                        `̩̦̲̺̰͂̑̏͡

 

            

 

        `̮̺͘͝

 

;̢̧̮̟̪̑͊̊̒̕

 

`͎͔̗̳̀̄͘̚ ̦̼͖̫̏͗̓͢͞͠`͎͔̗̳̀̄͘̚ ͍̲̬̞͓͖̂̂̏̾̿̏̒̚͜͟`̝̜̩̗͛̋̆̕       ̨̠̻͓̹̳̞͒͌̇́͊̾̐́̔͜͟

 

       ̦̼͖̫̏͗̓͢͞͠ ͍̲̬̞͓͖̂̂̏̾̿̏̒̚͜͟`̝̜̩̗͛̋̆̕ ̨̠̻͓̹̳̞͒͌̇́͊̾̐́̔͜͟

 

               :͚̲̙̩̻͉̈́̓͛͋͗̃̚͜.̘̰̹̾͒̉/̢͈͎̗̝̮̭̞̒͒́̓̅̚͜͝͡͠ 

.̧̞͔̳̏̉̎ ̭̬̊̐͊ͅ ̲̼̟̤͈̿̿̂͛͘ ̛̰̣̩̻̊͋̌

'̺̺͙̹̮͕̯̺̽̎̑̊̿͆̃͗͞ͅ:̨̦͂̌̆̒͜ͅ    '̘̗͎̘̬̬̰̓̂͆̏̃̚:̧̛̛̬̲̪̪̳̦͍̦̄̌̈̿͌̋̌̕ͅ'͕͍̪̪̭̝̙̮͊̍̿̄̒͘͞͠  '̢̙̟͉̘̟̼͂̆̌̂̊̐͞"̡̛̺͕͓͛̊͛̀ͅ  .̡̛̩̺̖̫͓̓͆̔̎̕͟͞,̺̹͓̙͇̗̋̽̅̅̔͂̈́͢ͅ*̛͓̲͔̺̝̒̀͐͒͠ͅ    `̧̡̣̹͕̲̘͆̔̓̒͆͒͆͘͜   

                            =̧͖̫̳̘̹̬̂̂͋͋̔̚͡   -̡̛̥͕̥͖̄̀͌͡  

̫̳̾͋ ͉̬̰͗͑̂̕͟ ̘̰͒͊͆ͅ ̮̟̳̓̓͑͞ͅ     ;̢̧̮̟̪̑͊̊̒̕ ̧̻̭̉̆͡ ̩̟̖͙̋͐͊͘'̹̬̘̮͐̋̍̾

̨͖̥͌͂͆ ̹͡-̳̤͆͑ ̢̂

'̤̖̩̣̳͛͐̓͊̌͟͞:̗̪̮̣̝̯̜͛̔̏̍̿͠͞.̡̨̛̲̼̓̑̇̚͜͝ͅ   ̧̱̙̪͕͍̠̘̲͆͛͋̉̿͗̃͞͞ '̩̹̂̐͛͟:͎̜̞̻̘͈̬͔̍͒͆̑̊̌͠͠     ̨͈͍̟͔͎̹̼̈̊͂͌̒̌͒͘͟͞   ,̢̦̰͓̦͆͑̓̌̃̉̓͂̈́͟͟͜ͅ   

.̧̞͔̳̏̉̎ ̭̬̊̐͊ͅ ̲̼̟̤͈̿̿̂͛͘ ̛̰̣̩̻̊͋̌          '̤̖̩̣̳͛͐̓͊̌͟͞:̗̪̮̣̝̯̜͛̔̏̍̿͠͞.̡̨̛̲̼̓̑̇̚͜͝ͅ      ̧̱̙̪͕͍̠̘̲͆͛͋̉̿͗̃͞͞ ̨͈͍̟͔͎̹̼̈̊͂͌̒̌͒͘͟͞,̢̦̰͓̦͆͑̓̌̃̉̓͂̈́͟͟͜ͅ          ̘̯̒͂̅ͅ-̳̤͆͑ ̢̂          

   '̩̹̂̐͛͟:͎̜̞̻̘͈̬͔̍͒͆̑̊̌͠͠ `̢̪̻̪̗͙̫͙̑̅̍͌̀̽̐̕͡ͅ  '̩̹̂̐͛͟:͎̜̞̻̘͈̬͔̍͒͆̑̊̌͠͠'̩̹̂̐͛͟:͎̜̞̻̘͈̬͔̍͒͆̑̊̌͠͠

 ̘̰͒͊͆ͅ ̮̟̳̓̓͑͞ͅ     ;̢̧̮̟̪̑͊̊̒̕ ̧̻̭̉̆͡ ̩̟̖͙̋͐͊͘   '̹̬̘̮͐̋̍̾

 ͉̘͓͍͂́̃͝ ̣̣̲̱̑̊̏̈́ ͈͍͆̚ ̘̯̒͂̅ͅ'̲̟͖͚̼̫̞̝̬̾̄̾̿̏̋̔͡͠:̡͉̞̳̩̪͖̬͙̳̅̑͒̂̓̕͝͡.̙̥̺͈͛͒̄̎ ̢̨̛͈̗̮̳̙̝͇̇̇͒̿͞͝͞͡ ̰̦̼̲̗̾̅͑͋͛  ,̡̛͙͉̱̑͊͞ ̨̨̨̭̞̔̈̑̋̆͟'̛̘̝̖̻̭͂͑͒"̦͙̙͇̽̎̓̎̕͟'͖͕̰̭̫̲̪́́̓̔͘͡ :̺͓̟̓̀   .̺̠̣͗͗̕ ̛͚̳͙̦̭̍̓͂́͜͠  ̨̧̛̩̣̱̮͔̪͔̇̓̾̅͆̏͐̕͞ͅ   ,̧͎̟͓̭͔̟̾̄̑̈́͋̕̚ ̲̜̻̰͇͍̔̐̇̾͠͞'̡͖͕͗̈́̄"͍̣͓̥̈́̀͐

 '̲̟͖͚̼̫̞̝̬̾̄̾̿̏̋̔͡͠:̡͉̞̳̩̪͖̬͙̳̅̑͒̂̓̕͝͡.̙̥̺͈͛͒̄̎   ̢̨̛͈̗̮̳̙̝͇̇̇͒̿͞͝͞͡ ̰̦̼̲̗̾̅͑͋͛,̡̛͙͉̱̑͊͞   ̨̨̨̭̞̔̈̑̋̆͟'̛̘̝̖̻̭͂͑͒"̦͙̙͇̽̎̓̎̕͟         '̺̖̩̻̼͙̲̓̔͋̿͛͌͟͠:̟͔̯̼̒͆͛̓.̨̨̞̟̬̄͂̓̓̐    ̧̥̻͔̥͈̩͊̈͋͆͘͟͠͠ ̟̜̪͕̞̯̳̼̊̏̆͂͑̄͡͞ ,̳̖̺̲͉̇̀͆͡ ̨̟̲͚͖̻̼̇̊̉̿̄͝'̢̡̳̅̉̊"̡͍͙͉͕̣̟͍͍̉͌̀̿̆͋͆͋̚

̤̉'̺̤̱͍̄̈͑̋͜:̧̙̳̭͍̫͍̐̎͒̍̚̚̚ '̺̺͙̹̮͕̯̺̽̎̑̊̿͆̃͗͞ͅ:̨̦͂̌̆̒͜ͅ **w̹̯̑̚ả̢ï̻̰̿̿͜ṯ͓̱̹̀̿͠**  ͉̘͓͍͂́̃͝ ̣̣̲̱̑̊̏̈́ ͈͍͆̚ ̘̯̒͂̅ͅ    '̧̢̡̪̘̥̯͇͕̏͐̿̈́́̈̒͘͞:̡̟̺̰̜̽̉͂͐͞ '̧̢̡̪̘̥̯͇͕̏͐̿̈́́̈̒͘͞:̡̟̺̰̜̽̉͂͐͞'̧̢̡̪̘̥̯͇͕̏͐̿̈́́̈̒͘͞:̟̺̰̜̽̉͂͐͞

'͖͕̰̭̫̲̪́́̓̔͘͡:̺͓̟̓̀.̺̠̣͗͗̕ ̛͚̳͙̦̭̍̓͂́͜͠ ̨̧̛̩̣̱̮͔̪͔̇̓̾̅͆̏͐̕͞ͅ,̧͎̟͓̭͔̟̾̄̑̈́͋̕̚    ̲̜̻̰͇͍̔̐̇̾͠͞'̢̪͈̦̭̤͙͍̌̄̇͗̍̾͗͡:̢̰͈͙͙̽̾̾̓̍͐͢͢/̭̲̱̟̫͛̒̈́̌̓͝ͅ.̲͈͇̤̲̗̓́̂̋̔͞ ,͖̩͕̗̱̲̝̲̑͛̍̈̀̋̀̈,̖̜͇̩͇͋͆͌̀̆   ͇̭̥̖̬̝̼̹̣̣͌̊́͛̃̄͋̐͞ ̧̧̫̣̠͌̆̆̅̅̚͜.̛̥̖̙̬̪̂̓͡͡     ̨͈̗͔͇̗̪͕͛̐̍̾́͋͑͝`̛͚̲̪̠̜̖̃̿͑̓̅͘͢ ̨̼̪̭͉̃̉̑͒͌ '̡͖͕͗̈́̄"͍̣͓̥̈́̀͐  `͎͔̗̳̀̄͘̚ ̦̼͖̫̏͗̓͢͞͠      ͍̲̬̞͓͖̂̂̏̾̿̏̒̚͜͟    `̝̜̩̗͛̋̆̕ ̨̠̻͓̹̳̞͒͌̇́͊̾̐́̔͜͟

 ṭ̢̫͍͙͔͊̑̔̋́͘h̨̢̲͈̆̃̿̕͜͝i͉̪̙̹̣̔̽̂̌͞ ͓̙͍͎̞͍̄̈͗͑̏̔͟͡ş̡̝̼͚̮̐̎̀̇̕̚̚͟ ̭͉̥̜͇̈́͒͛͞͝ͅi̡̧͉̖̹̰̱͐͂̎͛̐̆̚͠ͅs̝̳̹̥̬͚̆̔͒̈́̚͠ ̤̻̳͖̟̖̲͚̅̎̑͗̎͐̉̕n̛̘̥̟̰̬͙͈̘̐̃̋͊̓̅'̨̺̙̲̦̝̌̑̓͐̽̈̿͜t͈̝͍̦̦̒̐͛͊͞.̧͚̘͉̝̹̳̒̇͗̑̏̇͛͘͜.̛̩͕̤͖͉̓̀̈͆͘̕͜͟.̳͇̞̠̟̹̟̆̃̿͗͂̿͊͢͡.̱̯̱͚̮̣͕̭͋͛̂͊͂̽͑͛ ͓̗̻͉͚̤̇͌̉͑̇͂͢͞r̢̨̫̥͉͆͊̎̃͛̈́͜ͅį̛͓̯̘̠͙͓͗͂̈̾̿̊̚͢ ̨̺̤̦̬̝̪̲̆͒̃̿̅̌͌́͘͟g̭̫͚̣̬͓͇͓̻̒́͆̀̿͘̕͝͞ḩ̣̟͓̙̞̠͖̎̆̄̊̉͂͂̈́̃̀͟͢ ̛͙̪̯̥̰̠̈̀̒̌̃̋͜ṱ̺̹͙̤̯̱̗̰̇͊̂͊̋͒̓̐̆

`̢̛̰͕̪̻͈̙̒͛͐̓͋ ́ͅ ̨̡̩̺͔͈̬͉̯͖͂͋͛̌̿̒̉͗͗̚`͎͔̗̳̀̄͘̚ ̦̼͖̫̏͗̓͢͞͠  ͍̲̬̞͓͖̂̂̏̾̿̏̒̚͜͟`̝̜̩̗͛̋̆̕   ̨̠̻͓̹̳̞͒͌̇́͊̾̐́̔͜͟ ̝̫̙̐̈́̆ `̢̪̻̪̗͙̫͙̑̅̍͌̀̽̐̕͡ͅ'̢̪͈̦̭̤͙͍̌̄̇͗̍̾͗͡:̢̰͈͙͙̽̾̾̓̍͐͢͢ /̭̲̱̟̫͛̒̈́̌̓͝ͅ.̲͈͇̤̲̗̓́̂̋̔͞ ,͖̩͕̗̱̲̝̲̑͛̍̈̀̋̀̈,̖̜͇̩͇͋͆͌̀̆  ͇̭̥̖̬̝̼̹̣̣͌̊́͛̃̄͋̐͞      ̧̧̫̣̠͌̆̆̅̅̚͜.̛̥̖̙̬̪̂̓͡͡  ̨͈̗͔͇̗̪͕͛̐̍̾́͋͑͝`̛͚̲̪̠̜̖̃̿͑̓̅͘͢  ̨̼̪̭͉̃̉̑͒͌

'̢̪͈̦̭̤͙͍̌̄̇͗̍̾͗͡:̢̰͈͙͙̽̾̾̓̍͐͢͢/̭̲̱̟̫͛̒̈́̌̓͝ͅ.̲͈͇̤̲̗̓́̂̋̔͞,͖̩͕̗̱̲̝̲̑͛̍̈̀̋̀̈,̖̜͇̩͇͋͆͌̀̆   ͇̭̥̖̬̝̼̹̣̣͌̊́͛̃̄͋̐͞ ̧̧̫̣̠͌̆̆̅̅̚͜  .̛̥̖̙̬̪̂̓͡͡ ̨͈̗͔͇̗̪͕͛̐̍̾́͋͑͝`̛͚̲̪̠̜̖̃̿͑̓̅͘͢   ̨̼̪̭͉̃̉̑͒͌


	31. [____]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [____]'s POV

 

      '̡̛͚͈̩͙̩̤̘̦͍͍͖̼͖͈̱͌͗̋̑̅͑̈̂͑̄̑͂̌̾̕̕͢͝ͅ         '̡̨̬̯̗̹̤̟̤̻̅̇̌̋̿͒͑̽͑̃   `̨̛͔̪̰̻̭͖͍̝̞̭̱͉̟̋͐͒̾̊̓͗̌͒̽͗͘̚͟͟͞ 

 

                   

,͈̠̣͖̲͉͍̫̲̦̫̝̮̊̎̈̏̽̋̏͛̌̐̾̉͜͡,̢̢̧̛̭̠̹͇̺̤̪̣́̊͒̐͗̑͋̌̿̌͜͠          `̧̡̢̡̜͖̩͇̙̙͕̝͎̱̀̿͛̑͐͑̾̿̄̑͋̔̀̄̿̕͟͝͡ͅͅͅ

 

    '̧̼̬̺̳̯͖̞̫̜͚͔̯̼͓̺̪͎̘̭̺̈́́͑̄͌͌̾̔̐̉̓̌̚̚͘͞͝͡ "̢̨̨̡̠̰̦̙͈̗̗̩̲̺̗͙̂̓͂̋̆̾̎̆̅̉̉̃̂̒͘̕͟͡ͅ  /̢̢̮̲̣͎͈͎̞̤̠͍͈̰͙̙͓͕̘̪̳͋̈̿̾͆̾͛̿̑͋͛̒͌͆̓̒̇͘͢͞͡͞͠;̨̧̳͈̜̝͔͓͚͖͉͔̭̪͇͚̯̓̆̈́̔͑̓́͒̽̒̌̓͘͜͞͞͠͝͠ͅ >̢̛̺̻̗͇̤̥͓̳̮͖̳͈̹͓̱̫͚̱̤̦̦̖̪͚͊̎͆̓͗͒͑͗̔̾́͛̔͒̇͆͛̈́͘̕̚͡͝,̯͇̫͓̮̦̺̖̜̲̺̰̗̭͋̊̅͒͂̄̉͒̔̕̚͞   ]̡̨̢̱͈̭̘͉̪̞̭̯̗̦̻̟͕̼̫̰̘̥̑̉̒̒̅̅̑́̿͆̈̇̓̓̊̎̌̈͢͡͝͞͠ͅ[̢̢̨̨̩̘͓͓̺̬̪̳̳̜̐̾̌̃̇͗̽̇͑͒́͟͝͠

'̧̡̛̺͉͓̹͚͖̺̼͖͍̬͕̼̱̔̾̿̇̂͗̎͆̅̾͑͐̌̚͢͜͡"̧̨̨̹̼͚̟̫̩̻̿͆̏̉͌̇͌͒̇͡

'̡̨̻͚̦͕̖̟̣͐͊̾͗͑̍͠͞:̧̡̜̰̪͇͇͍́̀͐̈̏͐̃/̳̰̱͉͚̄͋̃̇̅̕͜͠ͅ.̡̞̲͇͓̟͌͛̿̋̂͘,͉̪͍͍̗͇̣͑̍̓́͒͘,̧̫͍̙͙̖̲̜͎͕̏̋́̃̈͗̒̚͝͞ ͈̩̘͍̙̦̆͛̅̊̄̈̆̍͒͟͢͢͢͝    ̢̮̹͎̟̖͉̲̖̀̐͛͑̅̊̊͡.̡̳̝͍̬̜̃̓̍̕͘͢͟͝  ͉̩͕̻̞͚̻͔̃͆͐̊̋͋́̍`̧̨̱͓̲̲̌̔̈́͘͝  ͍̩̼̝͚̹͔͆̐̀̂́̓̕͜͡

                     '̧̡̛̺͉͓̹͚͖̺̼͖͍̬͕̼̱̔̾̿̇̂͗̎͆̅̾͑͐̌̚͢͜͡"̧̨̨̹̼͚̟̫̩̻̿͆̏̉͌̇͌͒̇͡

'̡̨̻͚̦͕̖̟̣͐͊̾͗͑̍͠͞v:̧̡̜̰̪͇͇͍́̀͐̈̏͐̃/̳̰̱͉͚̄͋̃̇̅̕͜͠ͅ .̡̞̲͇͓̟͌͛̿̋̂͘,͉̪͍͍̗͇̣͑̍̓́͒͘  ,̧̫͍̙͙̖̲̜͎͕̏̋́̃̈͗̒̚͝͞ ͈̩̘͍̙̦̆͛̅̊̄̈̆̍͒͟͢͢͢͝ ̢̮̹͎̟̖͉̲̖̀̐͛͑̅̊̊͡  .̡̳̝͍̬̜̃̓̍̕͘͢͟͝ ͉̩͕̻̞͚̻͔̃͆͐̊̋͋́̍`̧̨̱͓̲̲̌̔̈́͘͝                   '̧̡̛̺͉͓̹͚͖̺̼͖͍̬͕̼̱̔̾̿̇̂͗̎͆̅̾͑͐̌̚͢͜͡"̧̨̨̹̼͚̟̫̩̻̿͆̏̉͌̇͌͒̇͡

 ̢̮̹͎̟̖͉̲̖̀̐͛͑̅̊̊͡.̡̳̝͍̬̜̃̓̍̕͘͢͟͝  ͉̩͕̻̞͚̻͔̃͆͐̊̋͋́̍`̧̨̱͓̲̲̌̔̈́͘͝  ͍̩̼̝͚̹͔͆̐̀̂́̓̕͜͡]̡̗̬̥̝̀̄̌͑̔̈͜=̝͈̜̣̦̊̓̇̾̊̒͢͟͠-̨̮̝̬̫̓̍̂̓̈́ͅ_̡̨̡̛̝̻̫̥̋̊̑̽̓̓̚ͅ/̡̢̨̗̰̗̯̪̪͂̏̅͗͊͒̆͒͘'̪̣͉͓̻̀̎̾̐:̡̧̛̯̠͎̠̭͓̬̎͗̏͋͆̄͛͌͜͠/̡͖̭͓̙̝͍̔͆͌̇͂̄͛  .̘̣̬̥̖̪̍̌͑̃́,̢̩͇͈͈̦̊͆͐̕̚,̡̞̯̱͈̫̠͑͒̇̈̍̎͘]̨̯̟̟͎͖͈̗̔̄̈́͆̅̈̄̓̐ͅ {̛̹̺͕̭͈̱̟̳̞͙̊̂̑̓͒͘̚̚ ̡̹̥̯̩̱̜̳̘̃̉̋̇̒̕͝ ̯̖̖̖̯̜͊̋͑̇̋͘ .͉̪̗̠̠͇̆͛̽̄̐͜͠ ̨͖̗̱͚͗̒̂͌͘`̙̩̣̯̭̀͒̅͊̍͜͠ͅ ̳̱̭̮̱̈̄̆̒̕

     ͍̩̼̝͚̹͔͆̐̀̂́̓̕͜͡'̧̼̬̺̳̯͖̞̫̜͚͔̯̼͓̺̪͎̘̭̺̈́́͑̄͌͌̾̔̐̉̓̌̚̚͘͞͝͡"̢̨̨̡̠̰̦̙͈̗̗̩̲̺̗͙̂̓͂̋̆̾̎̆̅̉̉̃̂̒͘̕͟͡ͅ/̢̢̮̲̣͎͈͎̞̤̠͍͈̰͙̙͓͕̘̪̳͋̈̿̾͆̾͛̿̑͋͛̒͌͆̓̒̇͘͢͞͡͞͠ ;̨̧̳͈̜̝͔͓͚͖͉͔̭̪͇͚̯̓̆̈́̔͑̓́͒̽̒̌̓͘͜͞͞͠͝͠ͅ>̢̛̺̻̗͇̤̥͓̳̮͖̳͈̹͓̱̫͚̱̤̦̦̖̪͚͊̎͆̓͗͒͑͗̔̾́͛̔͒̇͆͛̈́͘̕̚͡͝,͈̠̣͖̲͉͍̫̲̦̫̝̮̊̎̈̏̽̋̏͛̌̐̾̉͜͡ ,̢̢̧̛̭̠̹͇̺̤̪̣́̊͒̐͗̑͋̌̿̌͜͠  ,̯͇̫͓̮̦̺̖̜̲̺̰̗̭͋̊̅͒͂̄̉͒̔̕̚͞    ]̡̨̢̱͈̭̘͉̪̞̭̯̗̦̻̟͕̼̫̰̘̥̑̉̒̒̅̅̑́̿͆̈̇̓̓̊̎̌̈͢͡͝͞͠ͅ[̢̢̨̨̩̘͓͓̺̬̪̳̳̜̐̾̌̃̇͗̽̇͑͒́͟͝͠   '̡̛͚͈̩͙̩̤̘̦͍͍͖̼͖͈̱͌͗̋̑̅͑̈̂͑̄̑͂̌̾̕̕͢͝ͅ'̡̨̬̯̗̹̤̟̤̻̅̇̌̋̿͒͑̽͑̃  `̨̛͔̪̰̻̭͖͍̝̞̭̱͉̟̋͐͒̾̊̓͗̌͒̽͗͘̚͟͟͞   `̧̡̢̡̜͖̩͇̙̙͕̝͎̱̀̿͛̑͐͑̾̿̄̑͋̔̀̄̿̕͟͝͡ͅͅͅ

'̦̟͓͔̪̥͙̰͍̊̿̀͛̿̄͊̍̚:̡̭͈̭̥̿͛̓̍̓̓͟/̧͈͚̱̓͊̉̋͌͟.̛̜̬̮̪̪̦̥͖͓͌̽̃̓́͘͝,̡̭͕̯̺͎̭̿͋̐͒́͘,͚̯̤̯̯̪̇̈̿̽̿̕ͅ   .̨̛͚̝̮̠̼̋̉͗̉́͗̚͟ͅ `̨̨̛̙̺͖̬͒̇̿̒̋̏͂͢͟

  '̢̪͈̦̭̤͙͍̌̄̇͗̍̾͗͡:̢̰͈͙͙̽̾̾̓̍͐͢͢/̭̲̱̟̫͛̒̈́̌̓͝ͅ.̲͈͇̤̲̗̓́̂̋̔͞,͖̩͕̗̱̲̝̲̑͛̍̈̀̋̀̈,̖̜͇̩͇͋͆͌̀̆ ͇̭̥̖̬̝̼̹̣̣͌̊́͛̃̄͋̐͞ ̧̧̫̣̠͌̆̆̅̅̚͜.̛̥̖̙̬̪̂̓͡͡ ̨͈̗͔͇̗̪͕͛̐̍̾́͋͑͝ `̛͚̲̪̠̜̖̃̿͑̓̅͘͢ ̨̼̪̭͉̃̉̑͒͌'̢̪͈̦̭̤͙͍̌̄̇͗̍̾͗͡:̢̰͈͙͙̽̾̾̓̍͐͢͢/̭̲̱̟̫͛̒̈́̌̓͝ͅ.̲͈͇̤̲̗̓́̂̋̔͞,͖̩͕̗̱̲̝̲̑͛̍̈̀̋̀̈,̖̜͇̩͇͋͆͌̀̆ ͇̭̥̖̬̝̼̹̣̣͌̊́͛̃̄͋̐͞ ̧̧̫̣̠͌̆̆̅̅̚͜.̛̥̖̙̬̪̂̓͡͡   ̨͈̗͔͇̗̪͕͛̐̍̾́͋͑͝ ͇̭̥̖̬̝̼̹̣̣͌̊́͛̃̄͋̐͞     '̨̧̟̺̳̻͖̰̟̲͎̞͚̭̻̳͔̦̉̂͑̓͌͊̒̓̓͐̍͛͊͡͠͝͡͞"͕̘̰̝̼̲̠͍̞̠͉̜͙̩̪̓̇̏̇́̾́̄̂̿̒̍̃̌͜͝     ̧̧̫̣̠͌̆̆̅̅̚͜.̛̥̖̙̬̪̂̓͡͡ ̨͈̗͔͇̗̪͕͛̐̍̾́͋͑͝`̛͚̲̪̠̜̖̃̿͑̓̅͘͢ ̨̼̪̭͉̃̉̑͒͌      '̦̟͓͔̪̥͙̰͍̊̿̀͛̿̄͊̍̚:̡̭͈̭̥̿͛̓̍̓̓͟/̧͈͚̱̓͊̉̋͌͟.̛̜̬̮̪̪̦̥͖͓͌̽̃̓́͘͝,̡̭͕̯̺͎̭̿͋̐͒́͘,͚̯̤̯̯̪̇̈̿̽̿̕ͅ  .̨̛͚̝̮̠̼̋̉͗̉́͗̚͟ͅ   `̨̨̛̙̺͖̬͒̇̿̒̋̏͂͢͟

                 '̨̧̟̺̳̻͖̰̟̲͎̞͚̭̻̳͔̦̉̂͑̓͌͊̒̓̓͐̍͛͊͡͠͝͡͞"͕̘̰̝̼̲̠͍̞̠͉̜͙̩̪̓̇̏̇́̾́̄̂̿̒̍̃̌͜͝                                                '̨̧̟̺̳̻͖̰̟̲͎̞͚̭̻̳͔̦̉̂͑̓͌͊̒̓̓͐̍͛͊͡͠͝͡͞"͕̘̰̝̼̲̠͍̞̠͉̜͙̩̪̓̇̏̇́̾́̄̂̿̒̍̃̌͜͝                   '̤͉͇͈͇̝̗͚̰̹͖̠͈̙̈̽̇̑̉͊̈́̍͐̉̂̉͞͞"̨̨̢̯̥̟̜̱̜̲̭̹͕̖̮̪̱̻͇̄͑̂͒̉̑̑̇͗̓̌͗͛̃̓̆̊̕̕͢͝ͅͅ                              '̤͉͇͈͇̝̗͚̰̹͖̠͈̙̈̽̇̑̉͊̈́̍͐̉̂̉͞͞"̨̨̢̯̥̟̜̱̜̲̭̹͕̖̮̪̱̻͇̄͑̂͒̉̑̑̇͗̓̌͗͛̃̓̆̊̕̕͢͝ͅͅ 

?̮̫̿͠>̨̹̹̦̳̫̥͈́̄̌͂̋̾́̚;̨̟̩͓͉͚̥̱̜̲͖̪̮̟̼̃̾̉͛̇̑̓̇͗̐̓̃͟͝͡"̢̮̮̹̹̝̳͌͆̊̀̍̓͗͜͠>̜̼͍̮̘̻̜̬̗̌̽̊̋͊̅͐̚͝"̛̛̜̭̬͎̣̟̬̯̳͖̬̫̤̾̉̈́͒͆͊͗̇̔̈̆̃̓͟͜͠ͅ{͉͙̹̰̘͍̞̪̰̗̘̜̽̓́̍̐̑̀̃̅̄͜͠͞{̭̙͙̥͉͆̀͆̑̃̚͜:̡̛͍̙̻̯͚̦͓̞̖̃͗̓́͒̅̐̊͘͟͝[̲͓̼̱͌͗̎́{̡̖̱͇̦͇̪̤̦̠̗̙͚̓̌̓͋͑̊̄̔͂̿̄̿͊̓͟=̧̣̮̼̯̹̟̣̠̋̀̌̆͛́͑̄̕͢͡ͅ-̭͛-̥̳̻̫͔͖͖̹͔̟̪̪̈̾͊̑̓̑̾̊̽̅̌͢͝_̪̬̼̳̭̘͉͒̐͒̃̊_̨̹̠͖̙̿̍̃̾̄̚ͅ>̭̤̯̼͉̩̗̳̌̋̈̀͆̎̄͡+̨̡͍̮͚̥̑̀̋̎̆̚_͚̣͐~̢̜͙̩͕̬̹̣͚̹͖̟̠͊͊̎͑̔͛̓̄̔̏̀̓͑͞ͅ`̥̗̺̳̯͓̋͂͊̅̀̕`̧͇̞̼͖̜̩̘̲̻̋̅̐͂̓̃͛̚̕͜͞͡`̖͖͓͓̥̺̪͓̦̮̣̬͖͉̜̹͕͊̌́́͒̿͒͛̿̿̔́̆̿̋̌͘͘͜ͅ~̞͗'̛͕̖̭͖͓͙͇̗̟̥̬̫̳͚̟̣͕͙̉͂̂̅̈̂͋̐͗̌̅͛̈́̕͘̕.̢̡̯̘͙͍͍̺͕͖͓̣̱̳͉̦͗̀̽̑̽̍͛̀̀̇̄̈́̔̕̚̕͟͟͡.̖͙͉̦̝̆̃̿̍͒̀͟,̨̧̹͖̪̱͍͔̮̥̣͉̗͙̦̝̟͒̄̐́̓̄͋̃͆̅̔̂̃̐̚͢͜͜͠͠͠͞/͇͔̞̝̣̳͓̝̇̇͛̊̂̔͑̑͜͝.̡̢̥̫͕͈̺̬̯͇̘̅̾͌̒͑̎̋̿̿͟͢͡͝͠͡,͉͐.͔͚͎̜̻͋͛̍̄̒'̢̡̧̛̞͕̫͎̖͍͕̙͒͑̅̍̓̐͂̉̑͠͡ͅͅ;̢̪̞̻͈̪̺̥̟̈́̈́̉̾̓̓̓̓͂[̝̣̫͔̦̗͓̗̒͊̿̈́̓̾̀̒̓͘͜͢]̨̧̡̨͖͇͖͎̘̥̱̤̤̻͖͉̿͌̆͐͂̋͛̋̇̆̃̾͘̕͞͞.̧̛̲͇͍͓͔̭͙̺̳͚̞͙͖̆̄̍̑̓̓͊̈́͐͂͒̎͢͠͡~̦̖̘̪̳͈̥̞̭̺̖̱̝̿̑̿̾̏̂͆̐͘͘͝͡~̛̩͍̙͚̀͒̈~̠̙̺̙̪̠̜̜̳̰̰̼͇̜̱̭͈̻͊̈̔͗̂̿̋̓̍̄͊̓̂͒́͘̚͟͠_̢̧͇̖͔͔͈͔͕̘͔̞̖͙͔͈̜̉͑̃̈́̈́͑̂̊͒̈̽̉͌̓͟͟͝͞+̨͕̘͔͕͖̖̮͇̥̻̝̋̔̿̓̆͒͒̆̀̀͘̕͟͢͠-̫͔̙̤͙̪̘̟̑̎̐̇͐̽̕͡)̧̡̡̧̩̤̪̠̖̘̣̰̝͔̬̜͉̺͎̽̋̉͆̓͒̅́̎̿̈͊̽̅̈́̄̀͟͟͠͠͝͝(̡̤̼̝͚͇̩̘̳̠͎̲͙͈̼̲͈̭̳̐͂̈̒̎̔̔͂͑̾͑̉̈́̾͊̿̃̚͜͠*̡̧̼̞͖̖͖̩̭̝̠̲̃̌͆̓̄͑́̌́͘͘͡&̡̲̩̩̦̓̂̔͛̓/̡̤̫̫̤̱͚͎̯̟̲̖͖͖̔͐̃͆̎͗͗͛̏̎́̈́̑̍͛͘͢ͅ.̪̠͔̦̮͉̖̗̇́̍̍̑́̌͜͞͠'̳̱̦̜̤̝̃̿̇̌̌͆͢͟͡?>̳͈́̌;̥̜͖̟̉̇̇"̹͆̀͜>̘̬̋̚"̛̟̳̬̉͆̇ͅ{͍̪̘̍͠{̥͆:̡̞͗́͟͝[̱͗{̡̦̠͚̓̊͂̿=̧̼̣̀̌͛--̫͖̟̾̑_̳̘̐͒_̠̙̍̃>̼̩̈̀+̡͚̀̋_͚~̣̹̟̠͊̎̔̓`̺̯̋͂`̼̜̘̲̋̐͂̚`̪̦̣͖̜̌͒͒̿̿~'̛̟̬͚̣͙̂̈͋͗.͍͕̣̱̳̽̽̍͛̕.̦̿,̣͙̝́̓͢͠͞/̞̳̇̂.̬̯̾͑͢͡,.̻̍'̧͕̅̐͡ͅ;̢̪̥̉̾̓[͔̗͊̿̓͢]̧̥̤̻͖̿͌̆͛͞.̛̭͙̳̞̆̓̈́~͈̞̺̝̿̾̏̂~̛͚~̳̰͇̱̭̔̂̍͘_̢̘̞͙͔̉͑̈́͑̂+̖̮̥̓͒̆͘͢-̪̟̐͡)̡̰͔͉̺̋̉͒̎͠(̳͎͙̲̭̐̈̔͑̉*̭̝̠̃̓͡&̩̩̓̔/͎̯̖̔͆͗͛͢.̮̗́̍'̦̜̝̿̌                     '̨̡̠͎̖͔̘͎̟̹͚̺̊̿̋̾̉̇̿́̈́͊̈̓̚ͅ"̣̙̮̝͓̦̺͈̣̤̰̺̹͔͙̘͎̭̽̇̈́̆̉̈̓͐̅̓͒̑͑̋̊̄̓̒͘͘͟͟͟͟͝͠͡ͅ

?̮̫̿͠>̨̹̹̦̳̫̥͈́̄̌͂̋̾́̚;̨̟̩͓͉͚̥̱̜̲͖̪̮̟̼̃̾̉͛̇̑̓̇͗̐̓̃͟͝͡"̢̮̮̹̹̝̳͌͆̊̀̍̓͗͜͠>̜̼͍̮̘̻̜̬̗̌̽̊̋͊̅͐̚͝"̛̛̜̭̬͎̣̟̬̯̳͖̬̫̤̾̉̈́͒͆͊͗̇̔̈̆̃̓͟͜͠ͅ{͉͙̹̰̘͍̞̪̰̗̘̜̽̓́̍̐̑̀̃̅̄͜͠͞{̭̙͙̥͉͆̀͆̑̃̚͜:̡̛͍̙̻̯͚̦͓̞̖̃͗̓́͒̅̐̊͘͟͝[̲͓̼̱͌͗̎́{̡̖̱͇̦͇̪̤̦̠̗̙͚̓̌̓͋͑̊̄̔͂̿̄̿͊̓͟=̧̣̮̼̯̹̟̣̠̋̀̌̆͛́͑̄̕͢͡ͅ?>̳͈́̌;̥̜͖̟̉̇̇"̹͆̀͜>̘̬̋̚"̛̟̳̬̉͆̇ͅ{͍̪̘̍͠{̥͆:̡̞͗́͟͝[̱͗{̡̦̠͚̓̊͂̿=̧̼̣̀̌͛--̫͖̟̾̑_̳̘̐͒_̠̙̍̃>̼̩̈̀+̡͚̀̋_͚~̣̹̟̠͊̎̔̓`̺̯̋͂`̼̜̘̲̋̐͂̚`̪̦̣͖̜̌͒͒̿̿~'̛̟̬͚̣͙̂̈͋͗.͍͕̣̱̳̽̽̍͛̕.̦̿,̣͙̝́̓͢͠͞/̞̳̇̂.̬̯̾͑͢͡,.̻̍'̧͕̅̐͡ͅ;̢̪̥̉̾̓[͔̗͊̿̓͢]̧̥̤̻͖̿͌̆͛͞.̛̭͙̳̞̆̓̈́~͈̞̺̝̿̾̏̂~̛͚~̳̰͇̱̭̔̂̍͘_̢̘̞͙͔̉͑̈́͑̂+̖̮̥̓͒̆͘͢-̪̟̐͡)̡̰͔͉̺̋̉͒̎͠(̳͎͙̲̭̐̈̔͑̉*̭̝̠̃̓͡&̩̩̓̔/͎̯̖̔͆͗͛͢.̮̗́̍'̦̜̝̿̌-̭͛-̥̳̻̫͔͖͖̹͔̟̪̪̈̾͊̑̓̑̾̊̽̅̌͢͝_̪̬̼̳̭̘͉͒̐͒̃̊_̨̹̠͖̙̿̍̃̾̄̚ͅ>̭̤̯̼͉̩̗̳̌̋̈̀͆̎̄͡+̨̡͍̮͚̥̑̀̋̎̆̚_͚̣͐~̢̜͙̩͕̬̹̣͚̹͖̟̠͊͊̎͑̔͛̓̄̔̏̀̓͑͞ͅ`̥̗̺̳̯͓̋͂͊̅̀̕`̧͇̞̼͖̜̩̘̲̻̋̅̐͂̓̃͛̚̕͜͞͡`̖͖͓͓̥̺̪͓̦̮̣̬͖͉̜̹͕͊̌́́͒̿͒͛̿̿̔́̆̿̋̌͘͘͜ͅ~̞͗?>̳͈́̌;̥̜͖̟̉̇̇"̹͆̀͜>̘̬̋̚"̛̟̳̬̉͆̇ͅ{͍̪̘̍͠{̥͆:̡̞͗́͟͝[̱͗{̡̦̠͚̓̊͂̿=̧̼̣̀̌͛--̫͖̟̾̑_̳̘̐͒_̠̙̍̃>̼̩̈̀+̡͚̀̋_͚~̣̹̟̠͊̎̔̓`̺̯̋͂`̼̜̘̲̋̐͂̚`̪̦̣͖̜̌͒͒̿̿~'̛̟̬͚̣͙̂̈͋͗.͍͕̣̱̳̽̽̍͛̕.̦̿,̣͙̝́̓͢͠͞/̞̳̇̂.̬̯̾͑͢͡,.̻̍'̧͕̅̐͡ͅ;̢̪̥̉̾̓[͔̗͊̿̓͢]̧̥̤̻͖̿͌̆͛͞.̛̭͙̳̞̆̓̈́~͈̞̺̝̿̾̏̂~̛͚~̳̰͇̱̭̔̂̍͘_̢̘̞͙͔̉͑̈́͑̂+̖̮̥̓͒̆͘͢-̪̟̐͡)̡̰͔͉̺̋̉͒̎͠(̳͎͙̲̭̐̈̔͑̉*̭̝̠̃̓͡&̩̩̓̔/͎̯̖̔͆͗͛͢.̮̗́̍'̦̜̝̿̌'̛͕̖̭͖͓͙͇̗̟̥̬̫̳͚̟̣͕͙̉͂̂̅̈̂͋̐͗̌̅͛̈́̕͘̕.̢̡̯̘͙͍͍̺͕͖͓̣̱̳͉̦͗̀̽̑̽̍͛̀̀̇̄̈́̔̕̚̕͟͟͡.̖͙͉̦̝̆̃̿̍͒̀͟,̨̧̹͖̪̱͍͔̮̥̣͉̗͙̦̝̟͒̄̐́̓̄͋̃͆̅̔̂̃̐̚͢͜͜͠͠͠͞/͇͔̞̝̣̳͓̝̇̇͛̊̂̔͑̑͜͝.̡̢̥̫͕͈̺̬̯͇̘̅̾͌̒͑̎̋̿̿͟͢͡͝͠͡,͉͐.͔͚͎̜̻͋͛̍̄̒'̢̡̧̛̞͕̫͎̖͍͕̙͒͑̅̍̓̐͂̉̑͠͡ͅͅ;̢̪̞̻͈̪̺̥̟̈́̈́̉̾̓̓̓̓͂[̝̣̫͔̦̗͓̗̒͊̿̈́̓̾̀̒̓͘͜͢]̨̧̡̨͖͇͖͎̘̥̱̤̤̻͖͉̿͌̆͐͂̋͛̋̇̆̃̾͘̕͞͞.̧̛̲͇͍͓͔̭͙̺̳͚̞͙͖̆̄̍̑̓̓͊̈́͐͂͒̎͢͠͡

~̦̖̘̪̳͈̥̞̭̺̖̱̝̿̑̿̾̏̂͆̐͘͘͝͡~̛̩͍̙͚̀͒̈~̠̙̺̙̪̠̜̜̳̰̰̼͇̜̱̭͈̻͊̈̔͗̂̿̋̓̍̄͊̓̂͒́͘̚͟͠_̢̧͇̖͔͔͈͔͕̘͔̞̖͙͔͈̜̉͑̃̈́̈́͑̂̊͒̈̽̉͌̓͟͟͝͞+̨͕̘͔͕͖̖̮͇̥̻̝̋̔̿̓̆͒͒̆̀̀͘̕͟͢͠-̫͔̙̤͙̪̘̟̑̎̐̇͐̽̕͡)̧̡̡̧̩̤̪̠̖̘̣̰̝͔̬̜͉̺͎̽̋̉͆̓͒̅́̎̿̈͊̽̅̈́̄̀͟͟͠͠͝͝(̡̤̼̝͚͇̩̘̳̠͎̲͙͈̼̲͈̭̳̐͂̈̒̎̔̔͂͑̾͑̉̈́̾͊̿̃̚͜͠*̡̧̼̞͖̖͖̩̭̝̠̲̃̌͆̓̄͑́̌́͘͘͡&̡̲̩̩̦̓̂̔͛̓/̡̤̫̫̤̱͚͎̯̟̲̖͖͖̔͐̃͆̎͗͗͛̏̎́̈́̑̍͛͘͢ͅ.̪̠͔̦̮͉̖̗̇́̍̍̑́̌͜͞͠'̳̱̦̜̤̝̃̿̇̌̌͆͢͟͡.̰̋ ̬̻͐͋͟.̗͒ ̪̮̆̂ ̧̢̣̽̾.͚͔͈̜̿̿͞͞ ̮͓̊.͓̓͐͜=̛̪̮͈̳̂͞͞ ͍̙̪̞͗̑̿͝. ̡͖͉̹̰͒̾̄͡*̺̈.̧̰̍ ̧̞̯͐̓̂.̮͗ .͉͊͆ͅ.̩̭͌̎.̼̭͕͌͒̄̈́͢.͖̺̮͆͛*͇̫̗̐̚͠~̗̽.͔̤̹̪͛͑̔͘.̬͕̻͂͗͑͘ͅ.̧̩̟̪̈͌̎͞.̞̩͋͞~ ͉̮̹̼̇̄̽.̪̙͇̪͎͂͒̒̐.͉̠͓͊͗̇̊͜ ̣̎.̡͠=.̛̛̻̦̺̚.̛̛͉̝͉̤̰̍̎-̢̜̬̲͖̂͋͊̏͝.̗̭̖̒̽̕.̮̅=͎̻-̨̨͎͔̄̐̿͠.̦͙̪̓͊̀,̣̙́̄.͖͍̠̥̔̌̆͘,̬̱͋͐-̯̗̥̒͑̓.̝̥͇͚̿̅̓͋͜͞.͍̈.̼̃̚ͅ"̢͔̦̉̾[].͔̱͔̘͛̎͂.̘]̪͎̖̣̏̉̾͑;̝̣̘̅͒.͉̑.̛̟̟̯̦̓̒̚.͓̭͖͙͛̆̈́.̖̼̥̈̅͝.̯͎̏͝.̦̑'̡̿"̖̲̾̑;̰̀.̭̓.̲̌ ̇ͅ.̢̼͓̈́̐=̘̰͙͗͊̓ ̤͔͛͗.͈̮͖̪͛͋͒̔͢͝ ͔̞͓͉̊̋͂̂*̭̥̀͠.̜̓ ̪̖͍̀͌͐͘͢.̡̫̤̃̇͝ ̜͂̊͟.̲̝͍̿̿̔.̛̩̼̭̙̠̃͐̑͗.̤͛.͚̩͙͖̄̉͑͝*̙͛̎͢~̪̟̳̈̑̚͠ͅ.͓̣̘̓̒͡.̳̮̈́̈́͆͟.͍͍̳͐́͞͠ͅ.̭̤̪̞̇̅̀̑~̙͙̭̺̅͆͞ ̺͔̗̔͒͆.͙͖͚̂͡͞.̬͚͋̾ ͖̳̈́͡.̺͚͇̃̽̌=̥̹͚̂́̃.̧̡͈̭̘̋͋̎̇̂.̛͙̖͓̋̎͜-̢̌.̗̦̄͝.̢͕̖̎͡=̨̜̽̂̓ͅ-̬̌.̼̕,.̣̝̘̀̅͞,̨̩̠͂̌̌-̙̤̰̘̂̇̇͞.̘̏.͈̰̻̮͋̒͑͐."[̤͇̇͂̽͟]̺̖̻̠̏̐̔̅.̭͞.̰̚]̧͕̗̦͌̈́̈́͘;̘͈̮̹̂̐̀̌.̦͉̫̩̍̾̃̚.̧̗̮͙͑̓̐͡.̫͇͓̓̐.̞̻̤͈̝̆͒̃̾͠.̨̜̙̒̐͌͟͝.̛̛̣̪̟̰͛̇'̩̑"͔̮̪̆̿̕;̡̬͕̇͛̍͗͜.͙̭̇̾.͖͖̅́̄̈͢͢ .̜̕=̖̃ .̝̼͂͛ ̰̤̘̞̺̓̍͆̾͞*̻͖̹̉̈́́̈͜.̢̣͒ ̪̘̺͇͒̋̆̌.̢̛͚͌ ̞͈̿̄.̧̛̬͉̭̏̅͌̇ͅ.̣̻̜̊̓͞ͅ.̨̙̝̿̕͠.̜̻͖͉͗̅͘͠*~̱͞.̮̙̍̚.̗̮̱̘͛̆̾̚͜.̟̐.͈̬̩̮̓̒́͆~̧͔̟̀̉̀ ͎͐.͇͙̥͋͆͘͝ͅ.̢̄ ̱̎.͎̞̣͋̈͘͠ͅ=̫͡.̧̢͍̈͞.͉͋-̤͖̤͓̬̓̌́̇͘..̲̲̍̋=-̩̜͆̋.̨̹̮̏́͂,̩̮̑͑.̙̜͚̝̑͒͋͑,̧͚͎̙̀͑̕-͓̪͔̜̿̎̌͌..͙͘.̼͎̄͂͒͌͜͢"͔̎..̖̘͉̭̿͒͘͠]̧͠;̘̤̳̼̏̽̓͆.̙̦̳͐͂͌.̳͈̉̾.̨̟̖͉͈̏̈́̈́͠.͙͊͛͢.͖̈́͜͠.͎͙̭̯̱̄̽̋͊̒'͑͢"͚͎̪͌͐̐;..̦͚̺̆͘̚ ̘̊͘͟.̞̹̙̦̈́̏̎͆=̯̙̔̉ ͍̝̲̊̿͞.̼͔̮͎̰͆̏̊̊̕ ͈̳̟̘̮̋͊̍͑͐*͙̃. .̢̧̡͉̌̿͒̎ ̛̗̖͚̦̏̽̐.̤̦̙͋̽̿̐͢.̢̗̗͑̊͊̿͟.̬̝̏̓.̤̇*̡̛͔̙̑̅~̬́.̠̩̣͋͐̎.̧̤͕͌̚͠.̺̠̟̾̕͠.̢̅̎͟~ ̯͍̭̿̎̈́ͅ.͙̄.̢̐͜͠ ̰̗̋̿.̨̦̝͛̇͡=̢̛.͔̅.̞̯͖̻̙̎̾͐̓͞-̰̔..=̛͇̰͈̟̪̏͐̉́-̪͉̙̽̈́̀.̂ͅ,.̬̟̥̭͐̇͘,̖̭͉͑̾-̰̥͖̀̋̍̕͢.͉̍.̧͖̆͒.͇̋̐̓͟ͅ"̦͡.̗͎̖̊͋̍̊ͅ.̜̚.̨̟̏͠.̡͔̠͑͡.̤̟̒̽'̡̺̇"̲͖͎̙̈́̎̕͞;̼̥̕͝.͖̼̀̔.͕͘ ͎̫̖͋̐̚.̺͔̭̃̎͒=̦͠ ͎̚.̲̦͓̝͒͆͘͡ ̧͚̖͗̓͠*̯̤͍͛̐͆.̰̻͂͂̐̅͟ͅ ̧̹̺̈͆͝.̯̻̾̌ ͉͗..̪̹̇̉.̤̤̖̌͋̆.̰̞̐̿*̡͖̮̹̐̀̐̽̍͢~͔̟͝..̘̯̤͊̏̉..͈̞̯̪͒͋̉́͢͝~̘̙͈̥̃̏̄̆ .͓̔.̺̘͉̝̀́̉̈́ ̤̯͔͍̈̾̐̕.=̢̗͗̚.͎̝͉̱̂̀͗͗.͚̳̭̉̓̒͜͝-̭̹͛̎̇͜.͍̏.̬̉=̝͊-̖̮̺͒̅͘.̨͕̽̕,̛̬̮̼͛͋.̨̪̻͖̣̉̄͒̓͌,-̗͉̀͠.̨͘.͇͍͕̭̟̍͗̌͡."̧͉̝̺̺̽̍̓͝]̹̈́̕̚͜ͅ.̡̠̹͎̅̾̊͞.̩̗͙̅̚̕]͖̭̮̠̑͌̾̌;̢̝̗͐͒͝.̧̏..̥̩̹̳̏̓̓͊.̥̲̔.͉̠͓̂̋̾͜.̟'̲̲̪͐͐͠";͓͠.̗̘̬̣̽̉̾͝.͔̣̔̏ ̭̬́͋.͔͉̫̭̑̄͒=̫ ̼͉͍̾̇͝.͙̙̑̉ ̖̞͘͝*. ̼̗̮̒́͐̍͘͢͜.()̼͓͈̣́̀̄_̠̳̙̝̍͐͋̋͟͡"̖̤͊̇̅ͅ}͍̰̮̌̏̈{̨͔̜̿̆ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t:͇̅͟͞>͕͒.̙̿.̣͍͉͈͑̒͊͠.̧͇͉̋͗͛.'̰̟̿"̝̟͓̈́͒̆;̡͔̟̎̔͆͋ͅ..̡̽ ̼͉̺̺̊̓̂̔ ͕̳̇̓.̤̆.̡̛͕̌}͇͈̥̂͗{̳̻̖̋͐̄"̞̒?̲̑̇͢>͉̽<̫͌͋ͅ.̥͇̳̖͑̎̏͡.*̢̮̞̖̿̓͊͠~͓̞̰͗̿̅.̧̳́.̡̬̤͎͐̓̓̍.̦͡.̛̯̳̦͎̞͗̆̓͞~̢͠ ̮̬̩̓̋͘.̙͉̗͉̄̉͛͜͡͡.̭̙̃̅ ̽ͅ.͓̞͌͛͢͞=͓͉̍͒.̬͇̹̏͆̅̕͟.-̼̰͔̯͍͑͊̉̔͡.͙̮̦͈͗̃̃͠.=̫̳͒̑-.̪̩͎͇̎̆͊,̜̦̘͂̐̋.̼̥̉͊̓͜,͉̙͉̒̐̅͗͢-̯..̣͗.̠͍̠͑̆̕"̪̺̰̘͑̅͒̽[ ͚̰̾͡.̢̤̤̏̄̿.̠̘̈

 **}̳̾{̱͚͚̿̐"̱̘̱̘͖̾̏͑͞?͉͍͚̙̇̀͂͑ >̣̭̙̞͊͒̋̕].͎͌.̛̝͖̌]̛̞̟̼̹̑̎͆̄ͅ;̳͓̍.̜̰̖͓̍̆͌̑.̲̻͑͒̈́͢.̱̠͉͎̫̆̒͊̋̈́.̩̗̻̌́͘..̦̘̫͒͂͝'"̼̰̥̥̈́̐̅̆;̜̲͞.̗͍̣̔̌͗.̱̎.̟̽.̬̪͆̈.̍͢'̱̦̗̘͑̍̎̾͜"̰̹͗͞;͓͋.̖͊.͚̝̄̌ͅ ̱̞̤͛͝͡.̨͖̮͙͈̈́̓̋̄̒ .͔̳̑͞=̠͍͇͗͘ ̖͈̗̰̓͗̅̓̕͜.̻͆ ̪̻̔͌*̨̮̅̈̅͟.̡̙͂͞ ̦͔̰̄̃͘.͓̖̮͔̈̿͠͠ ̭͍͙̦͑͛̚͞.̜̤̜̒̇̅.͈͙͗͘.͎̻̗̖̎͋̓̅̈͢.̧̼̹̋̽̃*̧̗̎͘~͓͕̦̒͐̕.͍͕̄͝.͈̅.̼͑.̫̅~̢̮̟͒̓͟͞͡ ̣̤͊͊.͚̔.̭̖̣̼̒̎̎̔ ̘͕͇̣̅̄͒̚͢.̳̣̘̞̮͑͂͒͘=̲̂.̘̥̓.̡̬͉͈̀̆̆̕-̭̾.̫̲̤̽̇̈.̼̓=̬͆-͔̿.̘̌,.̢̬̪̓̽͘,̮̣̘̹͊́̑-͉̲̐̍.̻͎̹̘̖̔̓̏̚͝.̖̊.̫͉̞̲̓̃̕̚.͕.̯͖̮͔̏́͠͠]̛̫;̼̱̹͉̋͂͊̇̍͟..̢̬̼̎̑͘.̫͚̜͔̿̃̔͊..̢̥̪̍̑͆.̡̧̢̝̅͊̓̏'͇̒"̺̭̎̓;̫̽..̒ͅ ̥̫̂̽.̛̪̳̿.}͍̦́̐̓͟{̛̖̠̺́̑͑͜"͈͓̱̤̽̈́͐̓?̰̿>̢̚ ̠͊.̼̳̱͎̓̌̉͐=̣̙̼͈̓̔̍͆ ̡̺̞̖͉̄̈́̈͠. ̺̭̖͚͂̏͝͠*̻̹̙͛͊͗͘͜.̭̽*̲̺͍̈̾̚.̧͍̰͇̬̈̍̒̌ ̧̮̖̞̯͓͐́̓̒̂̾.̛̙̮̮͗͗ ̤̇.̼̲͉͍̉͊͆͒́ͅ.̙̖̩͈̭̅͌̔̎̈.̨̲͈̖̼̖̭͕̙̉͌͒̏̄̈́̇͘̚͢͡.͖̺̮͆͛̈͢*̪̝̱͇̞̫̗̄̐̑̅̚͠~̗̽.̞͔̩̤̝̹̘̪̣͛͑̔͗̒̑̾͘̕.̭͖͉̬͕̻̼̉͂͗̅͑̉̀͘ͅ.̧̢̫̩̝̟̪̈̐͌̎͛͞͡.̣̖̞͙̩͋̓̑̐͞~̛̘ ̹̦̯͉̮̹̼̇̊̄̽̽̔.̦̼͉̪͍̙̩͇̳̪̹͎̉͂͒͑̒̒̐̃̔̂͘.̢̨͓̤̞͉̖̠̜͓̻̌͊͗͐̇̈̊̔͊͗͊͜͠ ̣̩̎͑̽͢.̡̛͓͠=̫̽.̛̛̫͈̻͕̦̺́͂̇̚.̨̛̛͚̩͉̣̝͉͉̦̤̘̰̦̃̍́̎̄̈̚͘̚͠-̢̧̗̫̖̜̬̲͔͖̯̂͊͋͐͊̏̈́̆͒͆͝.͔̥̗̭̖͑̒̃̽͒̕ͅ.̮̅̑ͅ=̩͎̥̻̂̂-̨̨̨͙̟̖̜͎͔̜͉̄̅̐̃̅̿͑́́̅͠.͕̦͓͙̪̓̏͊̀̀**,̣̙̜͗́̄̊͟.̗͖͎͍̠̻̥̭̔̌̀̆͆͘͘͢,̲̬͔̱̐͋͐̏-̩͓̯͙̗̗̥͓̌̒͑̄̓̄͆̚͟.͍̝̙̝͔̥͇͚̮̏̿̍̅̍̓͋͘͜͞͞.͍̈.̲̼̂̃̚ͅ"̢͕͔̦̉̾͝[̹͠].͓͔̖̱͔̲̘͛́̎̊͂̐͢.̥̘͊̿͢]̪̘͎̖̣̄̏̉̾̔͑̓͜͜;̩͚̝̣̘̅̇͒͠.̨͉̑̉.̛̙͖̟̠̟̯̦̓̒̿̏͊̚.̳͉͓̲̭͖͙̭͛̆̈́͊̿͛͞.̠͚͉̖̼̥̋̈̊̅͋͝.̯̤͎̏̽͝.̦̑̕͟'̡̰̬̲̃̿̾͋"̨͕̩̖͇̲̍̾̄̑̄̎;̡̰̭̅̀́.̭̓.̣͓̲̅̌͆ ̥̇̍ͅ.̢͖̞̳̼͓͓̃̈́̈́̐̀͠=̠͈̙̘̰̰͙̞͗͌͊̓͛̏́̕ ̝̤̞͔͛͗̽͂.͈̮̘͖͙̪̥̟͛͆͋͒̔̽̌̚͢͢͝͠ ̧̳͔̩̞͓͉̊͒̋͂̂̓̕*̫̭̭̥̟̓̀̉̓͠.̜̟̓̈ ̪̘̖͍͍̖̀͌͐͗͑͘͢͠ _ **.̡͈̜̳̫̤͐̿̃̇̍̄͟͝ ̪̜̗͂̽̊̀͟î̗̟̯͙̪͎̰͖͛̒̌͋̚̚͝ ̢̡̛̛̦͍͚̯͓͍͇̣̝͒͛͒̿̔͛̉̈̍͘͟͢c̡̩͙͇̜̖̱̯͔̞̦̃͊͌͛̑̑͌̆̔͋̕̕͟ͅan͙͎̿͐́͢'̡̬̬̟͓̉̌̐̌̇͞ͅt̢̢̧̨̩̣̥̒̒͒̌̑͝ ̼͚̱̃͋̌͟d̢̛̩̖͉̲͙̠͚̪͔͑̅̑̉̈̃̉̔̚ͅo̹̠͂͂ ̺̖̞͎͓͓̠̺̎̉̇̓͐̉̈̑͟͠t̰͉̂͆h̨̧͕̱͖͇̬̳̙̒̎́̋̿̿̅͜͞͝i̢̛͈̪̗͎̤̠̘̲̬̰͛̓͋̓̂̂̓̂̇̽̽͟s̡̡̻͙͕͎̭̲̖͙̊̓̾͐̿͂̒͂̊̽͜͡ ̢̐t̤̩̫̼̘̣̫̳͚̏͌̂͂͗̄̋̔̕ͅõ͙̱̝̙̠͒͛̑͊̒͜ ̛̞̥̣͇̔̔͑ť̨̘̩̠̟̦͙̯͌͑̅͛̈́͋h̰̤̹͐͑͑͠ͅę̙̯̟̭̖̬̜́̀̊͗̓̓͗͘m̛̗̼͖̥͍̳͚͎͙̫̑̾͊̿͐̈̃͠.̫̲̝͍̎̿̄̿̔̌͟͜.̢̧̛̣̩̼̭̦̙̠̘̃͐̑͗̌͌͒͘͞.̼͓̤̳͛͐͋͞.̺̤̗͉͚̩͙͖̩̍̏̄̑̉͛͑̏͗͟͝*̨̣̙̤̄͛̎̏͢͡**_ ~̡̙̝̪͔̟̳̈͐̑̓̑̚̚͠ͅ.̡̨̗̞͓̣̘̍̓͗̒̓̾͡.̳̼̮̮̈́̈́̈́͆̌́͟͟.̝̥̪͍͍͍̳̼͐́͊̽͊̐̒͢͝͞͠ͅ.̰͓͎̭̤̪̭̞͌̇̅̀̑͋͒͘~̞͔͕̺̙͙͕̭̗̺̈́́̅͆́͜͞͠͞ ̺͕͔̗̙̔͒͆̄̚.͉͙͖̲͚̂̇͡͞.̬͚͋̾ ͖̳̈́͡.̢͚͓̺͚͇̗̃͑̽̌̋̎͝=͓͉͚̥̲̹͚͆̂̇́̃͗.̧̡͈͈̭̘̋͋̎̇̂͂.̨̛̝̩͙͓̖̞͓̋̾̈́̎͌̽̈́͜-̢̳̦͊̌̑.̭̗̦̱̄͊̂͝.̢͚̹̝͕̪̖̊̎͌̈͘͡=̨̜̟̪̽̂̓̌̔ͅ-̬̌̔͟.͍̱̼͑͆̕,.͎͎̣̦̝̫̘͑̓̀̾̅̌̿͢͞,̨̱͈͉̩̠̬̓͂̌̌͠-̨̨̘̫̙̤̫̰̘̂̈̇̓̇̌͊̍͞.̘̙̏̄.̼̯̱͈̫̰̻̮͋̒͑̅͐̉̎͜͞͠.͉̃"̖͡[̢̤͇̱̇́͂̽̂̎͟ͅ]̘̺̟̖͙̻̝̠̩̏̐̊̔̅̇͂̈́̆.̗̭̙̌̉͞.̲̰̌̚]̡̧̨̝̩̣͕̗̦͎͌̈́̈́̍̃̚̕͘͜͡͞;̡̫̘͈̮̹͍̋̂̐̒̀̌̓.̥̦͉͎̫̩̪̓̍̾̃̚͝͝.̧͓̗̮͙͑̓͌̐͡.̢͎̫͇͓̣̅̓̐̈́͝.͓͇̫̞̻̞̤̣͈̗̝̆̈́̾͒̾̃̾̈̽̾͠.̧̨̝̜̙̌̒̿̐͌͟͝.̛̛̯̮̼̣̪̟̬̰̦̀͛̇̓̄̇'̩̑"̼̝͔̠̮̪̆͋̿̏͛̕;̡̦͉̺̬͕̇͛̍͗͜͡.͍̬͙̭̇͒̾̈́.̡͖͕̺͖̑̅́̄̈̅̅̅͢͢ͅ .̜̕=͇̖̣̍̃̋ .̰̝̼̖͂͛̎̌ ̛̰̗̼̰̹̤̪̘̮̞̺̓̍͆̏̾͌̄́͘͞*̛̥̯͓̻̻̣͖̤̹̉̆̈́́̾̈̔͛̒͜.̢͖̣̔͒ ̘̪̘̳̺͇͇͒̏̋̆̌̒̾.̢̛̺͚̠͌̈̚ ̠̞͈̗̿̄͝.̧̛̼̦̙̬͉̭̏̅͑͌̇͑̂̕ͅͅ.̳̩̣̦̮̻̜̺̔̊͂̓̆̓͞͡ͅ.̨̥̙̝̿̕͠͝.̲͔̜̥̻͖͉̼͗̽̅̃͌͌͘͠*~̱͞.̤̰̮̥̙̆̍̏̚̕.̢̨̗̠̮̱̘̉͛͐̆̈̾̚͘͜͜.̟̣̐͠.̨͔͈̬͙̩̟̮͐̓̒́͆͛̀͘~̡̧̬͙̳̲͔̟̬̆̀̉̀̎͊̋̕͡ ͎̙͐͘.̼͇͈͙͓̥̼͋͆͆̇͘͝͝ͅ.̢̨̭͍̓̄̽̉ ͖̝̱̽̎͑.̨̘̹͎̯̞̫͖̣͋͂͊̈̋͑̋͛͘͠ͅ=̨̱̫͗̚͡.̧̢͇͍͔͆̈̏͞.̗̘͉͎̆͋̅́-̜͕̳̤͖̤̼͓̬̓̌́̇̓̀̚͘͞.͓̽.͎̪̲̲̍̍̋͞=-̡̛͓̩͔̜͆̍̋̂͜͠.̨̻͓̹̫̮̭̏́͌͂͆͂͞,̰̤̰̩̬̮͔͛̑̽͑̒̑͠.̧͙̟̙̜͙͚̝̑́͒͋̋͑̾̀,̧̤͚͎̺̙̰̊̀͑̑͗̕-̧̛͓̺̪͔̗̜̿̎̌͋͌͒̐͟͜.̢̎.͙͘.̠͇̰̼͎͆̄͂̃͒͆͌͜͢"͙͔̎͡..̨̖̯̖̲̘͉̱̭̗̿͒͊̆̋͛͘͘͠͞]̧̛̲͍́͠;̨͕̣͍̘̤̖̳̼̾̏̿̽͗̓͆̏̿ͅ.̢̠̺̼̙̦̖̳̹͐͂͌́͘͘͘͠͝.̳͙͈̦̉̾̅͐.̨͖̳̟̦̖͉̘͔͈̾̏̈́̈́͐̌̊̎͢͠͝͞ͅ.̛̯͙̺̩͊͛͗̋͢.̛̼͖̫̦̈́͜͝͠͡.̣̤̱͎͙̗̭̯̩̱̹̎̄̽̋̊͊̒̌̋̇͞'̪̼͑͌͢͠"̢̬̻͚͎̪̇͌͐̐̕͠;.̨̎.̘̯̦͚̺͚̃̆̊̀͑͘̚͟ ͎̱̘̌̊̽͘͟.̖̤̞̭̹͙̙̯̦͍̈́̏̒̎͆̀̔͋̓͆=̯̙͕̇̔̉̎͟ ̺͍͚̝̗̲̊̊̿̈͞͝.̨͍̲̼͔͕̮͎̰͆̏̉̊̿̊͗̾̕ ̥̼̺̥͈̳̟̲̘̮͆̋̈́͊͛̍̃͑͐͗̕ͅ*͙̃. ̞̇.̢̧̡͕̼̟͉̺͉̺̳̺̓̌̿̍͒̎͊̏̌̿̕ ̛̭̖̗͇̖̦͚̦̏̓̽́̐̋̄.̢̛̘̙̯̗̤̻̦̙̔͋̃̽̿̐͆̇͢͞.̨̢̥͖͔̗̗̓͑͑̊̌͊̿͟͞.̤̮̬̝̖̃̏̓̿̿.̤̇*̡̛̠͓͔͚̙̑͒̅͊̚~̬̘́̆.̝̠̩̣̣̽͋͐̎̅ ̰́.̣̩͔͗͛̚ ̬̾.̟̙͊̕..̠͑.̺͖̖̓̅̃̑͢.̻̕'̛̣̘̝̄̚"̩͎͐̉;̻̲̹̮̌̀̿̎.̲̬̌͠.̻̄ ̼̝̮͒̆̚.̬͓͓̲̊̔͞͞ͅ.̠͖̠̓͌͗͋͜.̢̻̃͐*͓͍͚̜̒̽̆͌~̛̣.̡̪̺̩̙̓̊̑̏͝.̛͖̜͒.̞̜̗̰͒̒̿̆ ̛̳̻͎̯̿̇͛.̬̳͊͡.̲̰̩̺̈͆͘͠}̞̊{̹̣̄̃"?>̪̯̘̙̂̀̊͌.̭̰͐̓ ̯͈̳͌̐͐̊ͅ..}̩̻̼͋̾̈{̧͉̹͉̃̅̊͜͡͠"̮̂?>͙̻̈́͠~ ̧̳̗͊̈́͌.̢̊̌ͅ.͓̽ ͇̹̌̎̊͟.̠̻̤͉̹͑͐͒̈́́=̹̮͍̔̔̇.̻̒̕͟.͕̜̻̌̾͐͢͡-.̠̬̋͘.=̦̲͐̇-̩͡

.̟̊,.̤͗,̒ͅ-͈̱̱̈́̈͜.̬̪̌̒.͍.̧̘̗̭́̓͆̓͘͜"̹͖͓̍[̤̬̎̒͟͠.̢̲͖̆̈͝.̘̓];͎̾.̼̠̓̍.̠̮̫͊̊̍̆ͅ.̱̭̋͠..̠̋.̳̍'"̹̥̻͂̌͑;̫̋.̡͙͎͇͍̍̈́̿̎ ̨̪̥̫̘̿͆͊̍̕.͈͔͊̚.̨̉}͍̱̦̼̉́̄̽͟͞{̡̓̌̕͟͟"̮̹͗͌?̡̰̳́̓͠>̢̱͑̄͢.̧̢̖̝͕̾͑̚͡ ͙̹͈̦̦̏̌͑̒. ̰̹̪̻͈̒͛͐̊ ̨̞͎̒́.͉͖̓̓͗ͅ ̡̛̟̳̮͆͆͒.̡̥̮̩̀͒͠͠=̟̹̪͖̜̇̉͆̃̍ ̞̲̺͓͐̈̋̔.̖͡ ̙̼̝͈̖̇̇̑̎͆*͙͠.?̮̫̿͠>̨̹̹̦̳̫̥͈́̄̌͂̋̾́̚;̨̟̩͓͉͚̥̱̜̲͖̪̮̟̼̃̾̉͛̇̑̓̇͗̐̓̃͟͝͡"̢̮̮̹̹̝̳͌͆̊̀̍̓͗͜͠>̜̼͍̮̘̻̜̬̗̌̽̊̋͊̅͐̚͝"̛̛̜̭̬͎̣̟̬̯̳͖̬̫̤̾̉̈́͒͆͊͗̇̔̈̆̃̓͟͜͠ͅ{͉͙̹̰̘͍̞̪̰̗̘̜̽̓́̍̐̑̀̃̅̄͜͠͞{̭̙͙̥͉͆̀͆̑̃̚͜:̡̛͍̙̻̯͚̦͓̞̖̃͗̓́͒̅̐̊͘͟͝[̲͓̼̱͌͗̎́{̡̖̱͇̦͇̪̤̦̠̗̙͚̓̌̓͋͑̊̄̔͂̿̄̿͊̓͟=̧̣̮̼̯̹̟̣̠̋̀̌̆͛́͑̄̕͢͡ͅ-̭͛-̥̳̻̫͔͖͖̹͔̟̪̪̈̾͊̑̓̑̾̊̽̅̌͢͝_̪̬̼̳̭̘͉͒̐͒̃̊_̨̹̠͖̙̿̍̃̾̄̚ͅ>̭̤̯̼͉̩̗̳̌̋̈̀͆̎̄͡+̨̡͍̮͚̥̑̀̋̎̆̚_͚̣͐~̢̜͙̩͕̬̹̣͚̹͖̟̠͊͊̎͑̔͛̓̄̔̏̀̓͑͞ͅ`̥̗̺̳̯͓̋͂͊̅̀̕`̧͇̞̼͖̜̩̘̲̻̋̅̐͂̓̃͛̚̕͜͞͡`̖͖͓͓̥̺̪͓̦̮̣̬͖͉̜̹͕͊̌́́͒̿͒͛̿̿̔́̆̿̋̌͘͘͜ͅ~̞͗'̛͕̖̭͖͓͙͇̗̟̥̬̫̳͚̟̣͕͙̉͂̂̅̈̂͋̐͗̌̅͛̈́̕͘̕.̢̡̯̘͙͍͍̺͕͖͓̣̱̳͉̦͗̀̽̑̽̍͛̀̀̇̄̈́̔̕̚̕͟͟͡.̖͙͉̦̝̆̃̿̍͒̀͟,̨̧̹͖̪̱͍͔̮̥̣͉̗͙̦̝̟͒̄̐́̓̄͋̃͆̅̔̂̃̐̚͢͜͜͠͠͠͞/͇͔̞̝̣̳͓̝̇̇͛̊̂̔͑̑͜͝.̡̢̥̫͕͈̺̬̯͇̘̅̾͌̒͑̎̋̿̿͟͢͡͝͠͡,͉͐.͔͚͎̜̻͋͛̍̄̒'̢̡̧̛̞͕̫͎̖͍͕̙͒͑̅̍̓̐͂̉̑͠͡ͅͅ;̢̪̞̻͈̪̺̥̟̈́̈́̉̾̓̓̓̓͂[̝̣̫͔̦̗͓̗̒͊̿̈́̓̾̀̒̓͘͜͢]̨̧̡̨͖͇͖͎̘̥̱̤̤̻͖͉̿͌̆͐͂̋͛̋̇̆̃̾͘̕͞͞.̧̛̲͇͍͓͔̭͙̺̳͚̞͙͖̆̄̍̑̓̓͊̈́͐͂͒̎͢͠͡~̦̖̘̪̳͈̥̞̭̺̖̱̝̿̑̿̾̏̂͆̐͘͘͝͡~̛̩͍̙͚̀͒̈~̠̙̺̙̪̠̜̜̳̰̰̼͇̜̱̭͈̻͊̈̔͗̂̿̋̓̍̄͊̓̂͒́͘̚͟͠_̢̧͇̖͔͔͈͔͕̘͔̞̖͙͔͈̜̉͑̃̈́̈́͑̂̊͒̈̽̉͌̓͟͟͝͞+̨͕̘͔͕͖̖̮͇̥̻̝̋̔̿̓̆͒͒̆̀̀͘̕͟͢͠-̫͔̙̤͙̪̘̟̑̎̐̇͐̽̕͡)̧̡̡̧̩̤̪̠̖̘̣̰̝͔̬̜͉̺͎̽̋̉͆̓͒̅́̎̿̈͊̽̅̈́̄̀͟͟͠͠͝͝(̡̤̼̝͚͇̩̘̳̠͎̲͙͈̼̲͈̭̳̐͂̈̒̎̔̔͂͑̾͑̉̈́̾͊̿̃̚͜͠*̡̧̼̞͖̖͖̩̭̝̠̲̃̌͆̓̄͑́̌́͘͘͡&̡̲̩̩̦̓̂̔͛̓/̡̤̫̫̤̱͚͎̯̟̲̖͖͖̔͐̃͆̎͗͗͛̏̎́̈́̑̍͛͘͢ͅ.̪̠͔̦̮͉̖̗̇́̍̍̑́̌͜͞͠'̳̱̦̜̤̝̃̿̇̌̌͆͢͟͡ ͈̜̎͡.̧̡̇̒ ̢̢̘͔͒̇̂͠.̣̺̰̋͘͘.̧͕͙̎̂̽̈͢.̪̱͓̂̒̀.͔͂ͅ*̱͂~.̬͈͕͋̔.̳̽.̛͈̻̼͊̐͢͠.̯͎̔̐~̛̭̠̈́ ̧̩̋͌.͔̲̀͋. [̫̑͜͠.̭̬̟̒͋͡.̰͙͔̱̓̿̈̃,̢̲̩̚͞͝.̪̳̩̗̔̃̊͘'̧̠̰̦̤̓͗̄̉͘'̦̣̳̹̓̃̆͊]̦̿}̛͎̹̗͔̅̂́͢\̢̲̼͌͂͐/̬̕~̛̠̝̭̘̳̋͊̓`̻̘̦̾͘`̧̛̙̺͇͔̍̍̐ ̪͚̭̺͐̉̾͠ **ḭ̢̗͔̔͑͗̚** ̱̏ **cä̡͓̥̦͖͛͐̕͡** n̢͖͈̞̗̋͒͆͌͠'̢̩̩̗̀̍͂̚ť͇͚̲̐̾̃͢ ̜̒?̥̼̮͂̄̃͟͞>̠̤̈́͝"̺̺̑̕:̡͎̟̼̎̾͆͐ ͙̱̕͠d̩̬̺̀̄̍ö̲͓́̌ ̈ͅt͈͝h **i̙͗s͇̬̰͔͊͒̇͋** ͓̖͓̒̕t͕̿o ̖̊̋͜t͈̊́͜h̛̜͆͢e̳̗̣̜̒̒̓̑̿ͅm̨̌ ̢̮̠̦̀̄̆̂ >

͙̠̱̰̰̼̅͐̒̄͊̈́͟͞.̨̛͖͎̲̘͔̻̘͔̋̂͊̓̍̆͆͑͗͟͢͞ ̤̫͕͎̭̪̐̂̈́͑͊̑*̥͕͇̭̒̎̽͝ͅ.̧̨̞̭̺̩͈̣̩̙̫̩̀͌̅̋̿͛̀̏̏̆͐̌͑͟ ̨̱͎͎̟͎̹̩̬͙̗̟͚̩̓͌̆̓͗̅̒̎͌͆̚͘͟͞͝͡.͚̼̥̭̤̾̈́͆̕ ̟͕̼͎̗̩̰̦̅̑͗͐̍͂̎̇͜͝.̧̊.͓̠̳̮͙̟͇̿̓̽̂̒͛͛͢.̺̤͇͋͝.̦͉͍̰̼̮̲̃́͗̏̓͜͡*̧̧̳̜͙͎̜̈́̆̅̄͠͡~̢̧̢̬̉̊̐̚͟͠.̨̛͕͖͔̘̰͎̳̻̣̯̠̇̽̽̌͛̋͗̚̚͝.̟͙̱̉͝.͍̼̞͎̟̖̩̱̐̑͊̽͛͌͘͝͠ͅ.͖́͘ͅ~̝͑ ̡͕̪͙͇̙̱̽͋̃̌̅̐.̯̦͙̟͎͈̻̊̓̎̉̌̿̿̄͜͢͡.͉̟̘͖͈̭̯̭͉͖͉͎̻͂͋̓̍̌̓͌̾̄͊̿͘͜͝ ̱̯͗͛.͉͒=̢̢͎̹̋̏͒̕.̧͖̙̪̃̎͛̆͞ͅ.͓͆-̢͉̮̠̞̪͇̺̂̏̿̂͛̌̉͋̑͟͜͞.̝̘̭͔̥̞͚̯͉̠͚͗̀̋̽̑̏̃̌͑̾̃̏͘͢ͅ.̡̰̳̺̤̫̩̥͓̱̺͑̈̔̒̇̎͒͗̅͠͝=͕͙̱͙̫̼͋̈̍̔̕͡-̛̩͍̬̖̺̩͎̇̓̽̏̇̒͢͞.,͈̬͖̯̼̬͊͗͗̆̔͘.̛̫͕͞,̡̥͈̮̤͛̽̀̍̊̚͢-̨̟͍̣̃̉̌̇̔͟.̧̼̙̣̖̺̄͛̌́̾̎.̛̫̦̭͉͚̖̳̀̉̏͐̕͜͠͠.̻̘͇̘̭̺̯͓̦͒̂́͆̉̊͋̏͢͠.̢̟̹̦͚͖͆̍̑̋͗̀̌͢.̱͔̮̜͓̦̜̻͆̓̏̐̉́͘͞͠ͅ]͕͇̩̖̩̔̌̃͠;̨̨̨̙̱͚͓͕̻͍̯͎̺̘̺͉̺̞̍̽̂̃̐̑͗͂̿̌̇͌̓̽͊͗̇͠.̭̻͇̳͖͍̬͆͛̊̐̂͗͘͞ͅ.̡̢͔̻͋͒͝͠.̙̥͍̮̟̓͂́͒̄́ͅ.̫̪͈̥͓̱̭͕̄̅͛͆̃́͛̚.̨͈̳͔̎̍̆̕"̟̣̉͞:̨̕"͙̖̿̕:'̭̩̗̘̈́͑̔͞'.̜̈́.͍̹͓͗͂̿/,̩͓͇̮͚͋͌͂̇͑.̩͚̤̏̎̒̊͜<̭͓͚͗̉?̻͗'͙̩͗͝]̳̅[͈̤̤͙̐̉̊͡-̯̍=̳͘-̦͓̿̂ ̖̠͚̍̏͗.͖͔̿͗=̛͚̲̮͂̿.̼̱͑͒͛͟͟͝.̡͓̫̭͆̾̔̓-̘̔.͙̯͌̈́.̳̇=̙̥͎̍͋̎-̡̪͔̈́͞͠.̨͉̙̣͛̔͆̓,̻͎̉̎̑͟͢.̩̹̔̂̽͟,̳̻͛͋-̡̨͖̳̄̃͑͌͝ͅ.̣̓.̛̳̮͇͇̊͋͋.̞̝͘̕"̧̦̫̊̓͞[̦̻͎̖̼̉̃̎͛̔]̹͖̣͔̐̔͊͝.̼͔̻̒̿͗.͙̮͑̔]̬̲̈́̐;̖̯̼̌́͘.̦̐.̢̮͇͕̇͌̏̊̊͜.̤̽̍ͅ.͉̋.͓̻̝̇͘.̬̮͍͛̿̓͢͡'͙̓"̟̿;̙̭͗͗̽͜..͕̟̝̂͗̍ .͚͕̓̆= ͗͟.͎̰͂̚ ͉̲̓̃*̩̕.̼͘ ̧̛̳̞͛͐.͎̲̄͌ ̹̤̜̠͑͐̋̾͋͟..̣̫̓͡.̤̃.̨̛̼͓̲͛̉͞*̗̤͖̤̓͐̓̚~̭̺̦͑̓̐.̗͈̅̕.̨̯͑̉.̨̙̹̈̿̾.͔̘̮̗͋̓̒͆~̜̲̝̪͌̃̕͞ ̹͍̠̈̊̕.̳̇̌͜.̨͕̰̐̆̏͐͜ ͙̠̱̰̰̼̅͐̒̄͊̈́͟͞.̨̛͖͎̲̘͔̻̘͔̋̂͊̓̍̆͆͑͗͟͢͞ ̤̫͕͎̭̪̐̂̈́͑͊̑*̥͕͇̭̒̎̽͝ͅ.̧̨̞̭̺̩͈̣̩̙̫̩̀͌̅̋̿͛̀̏̏̆͐̌͑͟ ̨̱͎͎̟͎̹̩̬͙̗̟͚̩̓͌̆̓͗̅̒̎͌͆̚͘͟͞͝͡.͚̼̥̭̤̾̈́͆̕ ̟͕̼͎̗̩̰̦̅̑͗͐̍͂̎̇͜͝.̧̊.͓̠̳̮͙̟͇̿̓̽̂̒͛͛͢.̺̤͇͋͝.̦͉͍̰̼̮̲̃́͗̏̓͜͡*̧̧̳̜͙͎̜̈́̆̅̄͠͡~̢̧̢̬̉̊̐̚͟͠.̨̛͕͖͔̘̰͎̳̻̣̯̠̇̽̽̌͛̋͗̚̚͝.̟͙̱̉͝.͍̼̞͎̟̖̩̱̐̑͊̽͛͌͘͝͠ͅ.͖́͘ͅ~̝͑ ̡͕̪͙͇̙̱̽͋̃̌̅̐.̯̦͙̟͎͈̻̊̓̎̉̌̿̿̄͜͢͡.͉̟̘͖͈̭̯̭͉͖͉͎̻͂͋̓̍̌̓͌̾̄͊̿͘͜͝ ̱̯͗͛.͉͒=̢̢͎̹̋̏͒̕.̧͖̙̪̃̎͛̆͞ͅ.͓͆-̢͉̮̠̞̪͇̺̂̏̿̂͛̌̉͋̑͟͜͞.̝̘̭͔̥̞͚̯͉̠͚͗̀̋̽̑̏̃̌͑̾̃̏͘͢ͅ.̡̰̳̺̤̫̩̥͓̱̺͑̈̔̒̇̎͒͗̅͠͝=͕͙̱͙̫̼͋̈̍̔̕͡-̛̩͍̬̖̺̩͎̇̓̽̏̇̒͢͞.,͈̬͖̯̼̬͊͗͗̆̔͘.̛̫͕͞,̡̥͈̮̤͛̽̀̍̊̚͢-̨̟͍̣̃̉̌̇̔͟.̧̼̙̣̖̺̄͛̌́̾̎.̛̫̦̭͉͚̖̳̀̉̏͐̕͜͠͠.̻̘͇̘̭̺̯͓̦͒̂́͆̉̊͋̏͢͠.̢̟̹̦͚͖͆̍̑̋͗̀̌͢.̱͔̮̜͓̦̜̻͆̓̏̐̉́͘͞͠ͅ]͕͇̩̖̩̔̌̃͠;̨̨̨̙̱͚͓͕̻͍̯͎̺̘̺͉̺̞̍̽̂̃̐̑͗͂̿̌̇͌̓̽͊͗̇͠.̭̻͇̳͖͍̬͆͛̊̐̂͗͘͞ͅ.̡̢͔̻͋͒͝͠.̙̥͍̮̟̓͂́͒̄́ͅ.̫̪͈̥͓̱̭͕̄̅͛͆̃́͛̚.̨͈̳͔̎̍̆̕ ̖̯̠̙̩̄̇̈́̕͝ ̨͈̼̰̱̱̙̰̼̹̓͋͐͗̄̓̍̿͞.̨̹͈̗̣̻̈́̋̉͊̇̍̑͟͠ͅ ̖͚̻͎̙̭͛̐͑͑̊̚͟͠*̹͙͈͑̆̎͋ͅ.̢͕͈̣̫̻̩̬̩̫̟̀́̅̿̃̀̽̏̀̐̏̊̄͂͜͟͢ ̢̨̡͖̠̝͔͉̩̹̪͇͙̟̰̩̤̫̎̓́͒̆̉͗̅̔̽̏̒̒̅̚͘͡.̨͍̠̥͚̤̖̾͊̈́́̈̆̚ ̢͙̖̞͎̗̼̦̰̒͗̑͛̍̎̀̅͡.̨͚̓.̡͍͙̰͔̻̮͙̰̞̼̿͒̎̓̂̔̓̑́͢͝͠͠.̭̙̤̖̋͐.̢̛̦̹̟̰̩̲̩̪̽́̓̏̓̕̕*̧̪̗̣͙̈́̇̅̆̓~̢͔̭͇̱̬̐̉͑̊̓͛̀͟͟.̧̨̛̩͈̳̹̻̟̯̣̹̠̇̽͛̔̄̃̓̽̓̄͘̚ͅ.͍͙͍́̈́͝.̪̞͎̳̖̙̱̩͍̑̇̓̽̈͛̊͋̍͜͝.̧̝͗͠~̪͛ ͙̟̬̙̲̙̌̄̒͑͝.̡̙͙̹̗͎̌̎̉̌̊̇͘͜.̤̬͈̞̭͖̦̻͓̗͂̍̔̓̃͘͘͝ ̘͆.̻͊=̧̢̱̩͆̽̕͡.͎̪̅̃.-̨̺̻͔̞͇̺̭̬̹̓̽̂̂̓̈̌̂̄͂͋͟͜͞.̨͎̝̘̙̥͔͚̯̻̠͗̅̊̄̑͌̏͆̑͌͘͢͠.̡͕̥̭̜̱̑̒̇̎̾̓͜͝=̡̲͙̼͎͋͊̍͋͐͊͒͜ͅ-͍̩̠̖̩̻̅̓̽̎͝͞͞ͅ.,̧̯͑͗̎͟.̨͗,̩͕̤͛̍̔͘͢-͔͓͈͍̠̉̅̌̕͝.̨̲̖͈̌́͝͠.̨̗͚̖̙̉̅͊̏͊͒͢.̥̭͓̻̜͒́̉͑͛͐̆͢ͅ.̯̰̟̹̦̦͚͕͎͂͆̑̏̋̒̔͆̈́͡ͅ.̨̛̠͓̦̜̗̖̦͈̑̓͌̋̉̄͞]̩̜̖͕͉͚̖̥̆̔̂̈́̿̕͞;̨͖͓̣͕̯͕̫͍̺̺͚͖̋̂̓̑̓̄͗͋̿̇̊͌̊̑͌͋͟͢ͅ.̡̺̳͍̓̾̐͘.̢̤̳͈͇͍̻̥͔̯̐̒͋͋͛̉́͠͞.̖̦̗̮̆̓́̒̔̚ͅͅ.̨̜̥͓̜̭͆̅̄͛̕͞.̨͈͓̟͊̍̓̔.͉̺̮͌͊̇̔͢'͈́"̱̚;̻̱̳̿̓̅͒͢.̘̗̼̈̓̂̑͜.̳̯̼͙̅̀͘̕ ̡̦̫̣̀͛͌͘.=͕̌͢͞ ͎̗̈͆.̺͇̑͞ ͉̮̙̆͆͋*͙̜͎̹̽̌͠.͙̳̯̦̌͋̊͘ ̭̋̈́̈́ͅͅ.̧̫͇̔̅̓ ̧̹̈̚.͚̪̻̜̏͛̍̒.̤̂.͎͗̊͢.͂ͅ*̖̃~̩̄͟͝.̚͜..̨̘̦̲̉͗̊͘͝ͅ.̨͙͖͌̈̓~̥͍̰̘̊̔͘͞ ̺͙̝̎̔̿͑͜.͙̘͖̓̋͆. ͚͘.̣̦̦̝͎́͒̿̈=͉̳͎̤̓̐̽.̼̙͓̓͛̏.̭͇̆͂-͚̮͛̌͢͠.̡͆.͈͚̺̑̌̅=͙͇̞̭̔̾̓̈͜͝-̢̗͚̐̄̈́.̛̜̹̤͔̈̏̃,̟͉͙̐̂̕.̬̗̦̻̊̔̃̀,̼̬̇̿-̨̗̜͕̂́̎.̰̫̩͔̇͂̽͘.̛͎͉͈̠̅̄̍.̜̟̳͈̼̋̐͑̂̕"̨͙̪͆͛.̖̝͆̽

.̺̣̈́̽]̬̓;͇̟͒̅͟͞.̰͂͜͡.̤̘̜͓̐̅̾̈.̨̬̻̲̍̌͛̅.̨̲̪̱̰̑̅̓͐͡.̧̧͚̜̿̊̏͝.̟̎'̨̛̰̣̩͐̏̑̚͜"̣̩̜̅͛̾͢͞;̮̗̻̽̑̚.͓̑.̰̼͗̋ ̦͔̪̜͕͂̆̾͡.̟͛=̖͂ ̦̭̑.̧̢̨̛̈͋͢͠ ̕͜*͕̺̲̊̊͋.̡͕̈́̂ ̞̗̹̙͖̐͒̄̀͡.̪̥͒͞ ̞̩̠̩̰̏̆͗͋̐.͎͕̰̔́̎.̩̂.̫̎.̺̰͘͠*̰̃~͖̫̿͆͐ͅ.̣̠̮͚̑̈̕.̡̭̪̿̿̕͟.̤̜̱̾̔̚.̬̪̄̕~̯̥̘̺̈́͂͐̑̊͟ ͓̞͑̕.̖̤̘́̊͝.͍̳͌̔͞ͅ ̢̧̫̘̑͌͗̎͆͢.͎̱̜̌͗͗=̢̛͖̱̗̀̉̍̔ͅ.̥̆.̘͚͐̔-̢̏.̤̮̄̚.̬̫̈͠=͙̣̙̆̔͠-̤̤̓̏.͕̦̻̂̓͒̽ͅ,͕͙̞̓̅̋ ͙̠̱̰̰̼̅͐̒̄͊̈́͟͞.̨̛͖͎̲̘͔̻̘͔̋̂͊̓̍̆͆͑͗͟͢͞ ̤̫͕͎̭̪̐̂̈́͑͊̑*̥͕͇̭̒̎̽͝ͅ.̧̨̞̭̺̩͈̣̩̙̫̩̀͌̅̋̿͛̀̏̏̆͐̌͑͟ ̨̱͎͎̟͎̹̩̬͙̗̟͚̩̓͌̆̓͗̅̒̎͌͆̚͘͟͞͝͡.͚̼̥̭̤̾̈́͆̕ ̟͕̼͎̗̩̰̦̅̑͗͐̍͂̎̇͜͝?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡.̧̊.͓̠̳̮͙̟͇̿̓̽̂̒͛͛͢.̺̤͇͋͝.̦͉͍̰̼̮̲̃́͗̏̓͜͡*̧̧̳̜͙͎̜̈́̆̅̄͠͡~̢̧̢̬̉̊̐̚͟͠.̨̛͕͖͔̘̰͎̳̻̣̯̠̇̽̽̌͛̋͗̚̚͝.̟͙̱̉͝.͍̼̞͎̟̖̩̱̐̑͊̽͛͌͘͝͠ͅ.͖́͘ͅ~̝͑ ̡͕̪͙͇̙̱̽͋̃̌̅̐.̯̦͙̟͎͈̻̊̓̎̉̌̿̿̄͜͢͡.͉̟̘͖͈̭̯̭͉͖͉͎̻͂͋̓̍̌̓͌̾̄͊̿͘͜͝ ̱̯͗͛.͉͒=̢̢͎̹̋̏͒̕.̧͖̙̪̃̎͛̆͞ͅ.͓͆-̢͉̮̠̞̪͇̺̂̏̿̂͛̌̉͋̑͟͜͞.̝̘̭͔̥̞͚̯͉̠͚͗̀̋̽̑̏̃̌͑̾̃̏͘͢ͅ.̡̰̳̺̤̫̩̥͓̱̺͑̈̔̒̇̎͒͗̅͠͝=͕͙̱͙̫̼͋̈̍̔̕͡-̛̩͍̬̖̺̩͎̇̓̽̏̇̒͢͞?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡.,͈̬͖̯̼̬͊͗͗̆̔͘.̛̫͕͞,̡̥͈̮̤͛̽̀̍̊̚͢-̨̟͍̣̃̉̌̇̔͟.̧̼̙̣̖̺̄͛̌́̾̎.̛̫̦̭͉͚̖̳̀̉̏͐̕͜͠͠.̻̘͇̘̭̺̯͓̦͒̂́͆̉̊͋̏͢͠.̢̟̹̦͚͖͆̍̑̋͗̀̌͢.̱͔̮̜͓̦̜̻͆̓̏̐̉́͘͞͠ͅ]͕͇̩̖̩̔̌̃͠;̨̨̨̙̱͚͓͕̻͍̯͎̺̘̺͉̺̞̍̽̂̃̐̑͗͂̿̌̇͌̓̽͊͗̇͠.̭̻͇̳͖͍̬͆͛̊̐̂͗͘͞ͅ.̡̢͔̻͋͒͝͠.̙̥͍̮̟̓͂́͒̄́ͅ.̫̪͈̥͓̱̭͕̄̅͛͆̃́͛̚.̨͈̳͔̎̍̆̕.,̺̝̝̔̅͛͝ͅ-͉̮̭̱̈̄͋́.̩̙̻̌̃͡.̫͉̈͆.̜̭͓̅̿̃"̱͕̅̕.͙̪͖͛͢͝͝.̪̟̝͈̭̆̉̃͞͞.͔͚̈́̕.̢͇̺̀͛̍̆͢.̣̄'̡̃"̢́͌͟;͋͢.͛͘͟͟.̢̹͍͛̇͘͟ ̘̿̄ͅ.̼̱̓̿͢͠=͓̳͓͂͒͠͞ͅ ̞̭̘̐̕͝.̨̈́ *.̨̯̣͖̐͒̑̚ ̙͓͕͍͐̎͆̆͢.̯̼̤̙̅̾̎̐ ͚͈̼̾̾̋.͚̙̙̒̀͝..̠͉̹̽͌̅.͙͡*̡̻̙̬̆̾͋̚͜~̳̪̺̘̋͛̌͛.̡̡̢͓̈́̔͞͝͝ͅ.͖͍̹̌̈̏̐͟.̢͎͉̣̿̎̍͘.̜͚̤̪̋̄̈̚~̣̌ .̹̓.̝̆̾͟ ̗̃.͍͇̎̐=̣̤͌̂.̥̱̎̍.̡͍̝̻͌̈͘͠-̩̓͟͞

 _ **ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝**_ **ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅ** _ **s̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́** s̠̎n̖̔ **'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t**_.̠̩̔͛.=̱̞̣͐͋̇-̘͛.͈̄,̢͇̰̃͂̅.̥̯̗̉̎̀͌͜,͎͈̥̲̒͋̏͠-̧̬͍̖̊̋̚͘.̼̰̘̆͆͡.̳͘.͖̻̱̇͑͡͡ͅ"̠̃]̨̥͊̾͠ͅ.̪͎̦̎͂.̛͚̮̦̇̋]͍͆;̝͐.̘̘̲̊͂̆̊͜.̩͈̼̪̏̒̓͛.͒͜.̜̃.̺͗.̩̱̄͝'̤͚̹̭̿͠͞"̜̖̲̬͂͐͛͂;̯͡.͈̫̻͚̽̊̚̕.̘͇̙̀͊͘͢͠ ͕̝̩̓͒̅̅͜.̦̐=̢̣̂͝ ̛̦.̣̥͓͛̃̍ ͖̖̳̑́͂*̨̤͉̞̀̊̍͘?̮̫̿͠ >̨̹̹̦̳̫̥͈́̄̌͂̋̾́̚;̨̟̩͓͉͚̥̱̜̲͖̪̮̟̼̃̾̉͛̇̑̓̇͗̐̓̃͟͝͡"̢̮̮̹̹̝̳͌͆̊̀̍̓͗͜͠>̜̼͍̮̘̻̜̬̗̌̽̊̋͊̅͐̚͝"̛̛̜̭̬͎̣̟̬̯̳͖̬̫̤̾̉̈́͒͆͊͗̇̔̈̆̃̓͟͜͠ͅ{͉͙̹̰̘͍̞̪̰̗̘̜̽̓́̍̐̑̀̃̅̄͜͠͞{̭̙͙̥͉͆̀͆̑̃̚͜:̡̛͍̙̻̯͚̦͓̞̖̃͗̓́͒̅̐̊͘͟͝[̲͓̼̱͌͗̎́{̡̖̱͇̦͇̪̤̦̠̗̙͚̓̌̓͋͑̊̄̔͂̿̄̿͊̓͟=̧̣̮̼̯̹̟̣̠̋̀̌̆͛́͑̄̕͢͡ͅ-̭͛-̥̳̻̫͔͖͖̹͔̟̪̪̈̾͊̑̓̑̾̊̽̅̌͢͝_̪̬̼̳̭̘͉͒̐͒̃̊_̨̹̠͖̙̿̍̃̾̄̚ͅ>̭̤̯̼͉̩̗̳̌̋̈̀͆̎̄͡+̨̡͍̮͚̥̑̀̋̎̆̚_͚̣͐~̢̜͙̩͕̬̹̣͚̹͖̟̠͊͊̎͑̔͛̓̄̔̏̀̓͑͞ͅ`̥̗̺̳̯͓̋͂͊̅̀̕`̧͇̞̼͖̜̩̘̲̻̋̅̐͂̓̃͛̚̕͜͞͡`̖͖͓͓̥̺̪͓̦̮̣̬͖͉̜̹͕͊̌́́͒̿͒͛̿̿̔́̆̿̋̌͘͘͜ͅ~̞͗'̛͕̖̭͖͓͙͇̗̟̥̬̫̳͚̟̣͕͙̉͂̂̅̈̂͋̐͗̌̅͛̈́̕͘̕.̢̡̯̘͙͍͍̺͕͖͓̣̱̳͉̦͗̀̽̑̽̍͛̀̀̇̄̈́̔̕̚̕͟͟͡.̖͙͉̦̝̆̃̿̍͒̀͟,̨̧̹͖̪̱͍͔̮̥̣͉̗͙̦̝̟͒̄̐́̓̄͋̃͆̅̔̂̃̐̚͢͜͜͠͠͠͞/͇͔̞̝̣̳͓̝̇̇͛̊̂̔͑̑͜͝.̡̢̥̫͕͈̺̬̯͇̘̅̾͌̒͑̎̋̿̿͟͢͡͝͠͡,͉͐.͔͚͎̜̻͋͛̍̄̒'̢̡̧̛̞͕̫͎̖͍͕̙͒͑̅̍̓̐͂̉̑͠͡ͅͅ;̢̪̞̻͈̪̺̥̟̈́̈́̉̾̓̓̓̓͂[̝̣̫͔̦̗͓̗̒͊̿̈́̓̾̀̒̓͘͜͢]̨̧̡̨͖͇͖͎̘̥̱̤̤̻͖͉̿͌̆͐͂̋͛̋̇̆̃̾͘̕͞͞.̧̛̲͇͍͓͔̭͙̺̳͚̞͙͖̆̄̍̑̓̓͊̈́͐͂͒̎͢͠͡~̦̖̘̪̳͈̥̞̭̺̖̱̝̿̑̿̾̏̂͆̐͘͘͝͡~̛̩͍̙͚̀͒̈~̠̙̺̙̪̠̜̜̳̰̰̼͇̜̱̭͈̻͊̈̔͗̂̿̋̓̍̄͊̓̂͒́͘̚͟͠_̢̧͇̖͔͔͈͔͕̘͔̞̖͙͔͈̜̉͑̃̈́̈́͑̂̊͒̈̽̉͌̓͟͟͝͞+̨͕̘͔͕͖̖̮͇̥̻̝̋̔̿̓̆͒͒̆̀̀͘̕͟͢͠-̫͔̙̤͙̪̘̟̑̎̐̇͐̽̕͡)̧̡̡̧̩̤̪̠̖̘̣̰̝͔̬̜͉̺͎̽̋̉͆̓͒̅́̎̿̈͊̽̅̈́̄̀͟͟͠͠͝͝(̡̤̼̝͚͇̩̘̳̠͎̲͙͈̼̲͈̭̳̐͂̈̒̎̔̔͂͑̾͑̉̈́̾͊̿̃̚͜͠*̡̧̼̞͖̖͖̩̭̝̠̲̃̌͆̓̄͑́̌́͘͘͡&̡̲̩̩̦̓̂̔͛̓/̡̤̫̫̤̱͚͎̯̟̲̖͖͖̔͐̃͆̎͗͗͛̏̎́̈́̑̍͛͘͢ͅ.̪̠͔̦̮͉̖̗̇́̍̍̑́̌͜͞͠'̳̱̦̜̤̝̃̿̇̌̌͆͢͟͡

.̰̋ ̬̻͐͋͟.̗͒ ̪̮̆̂ ̧̢̣̽̾.͚͔͈̜̿̿͞͞ ̮͓̊.͓̓͐͜=̛̪̮͈̳̂͞͞ ͍̙̪̞͗̑̿͝. ̡͖͉̹̰͒̾̄͡*̺̈.̧̰̍ ̧̞̯͐̓̂.̮͗ .͉͊͆ͅ.̩̭͌̎.̼̭͕͌͒̄̈́͢.͖̺̮͆͛*͇̫̗̐̚͠~̗̽.͔̤̹̪͛͑̔͘.̬͕̻͂͗͑͘ͅ.̧̩̟̪̈͌̎͞.̞̩͋͞~ ͉̮̹̼̇̄̽.̪̙͇̪͎͂͒̒̐.͉̠͓͊͗̇̊͜ _ **̣̎.̡͠=.̛̛̻̦̺̚.̛̛͉̝͉̤̰̍̎-̢̜̬̲͖̂͋͊̏͝.̗̭̖̒̽̕.̮̅=͎̻-̨̨͎͔̄̐̿͠.̦͙̪̓͊̀,̣̙́̄.͖͍̠̥̔̌̆͘,̬̱͋͐-̯̗̥̒͑̓.̝̥͇͚̿̅̓͋͜͞.͍̈.̼̃̚ͅ"̢͔̦̉̾[]**_.͔̱͔̘͛̎͂.̘]̪͎̖̣̏̉̾͑;̝̣̘̅͒.͉̑.̛̟̟̯̦̓̒̚.͓̭͖͙͛̆̈́.̖̼̥̈̅͝.̯͎̏͝.̦̑'̡̿"̖̲̾̑;̰̀.̭̓.̲̌ ̇ͅ.̢̼͓̈́̐=̘̰͙͗͊̓ ̤͔͛͗.͈̮͖̪͛͋͒̔͢͝ ͔̞͓͉̊̋͂̂*̭̥̀͠.̜̓ ̪̖͍̀͌͐͘͢.̡̫̤̃̇͝ ̜͂̊͟.̲̝͍̿̿̔.̛̩̼̭̙̠̃͐̑͗.̤͛.͚̩͙͖̄̉͑͝*̙͛̎͢~̪̟̳̈̑̚͠ͅ.͓̣̘̓̒͡.̳̮̈́̈́͆͟.͍͍̳͐́͞͠ͅ.̭̤̪̞̇̅̀̑~̙͙̭̺̅͆͞ ̺͔̗̔͒͆.͙͖͚̂͡͞.̬͚͋̾ ͖̳̈́͡.̺͚͇̃̽̌=̥̹͚̂́̃.̧̡͈̭̘̋͋̎̇̂.̛͙̖͓̋̎͜-̢̌.̗̦̄͝.̢͕̖̎͡=̨̜̽̂̓ͅ-̬̌.̼̕,.̣̝̘̀̅͞,̨̩̠͂̌̌-̙̤̰̘̂̇̇͞.̘̏.͈̰̻̮͋̒͑͐."[̤͇̇͂̽͟]̺̖̻̠̏̐̔̅.̭͞.̰̚]̧͕̗̦͌̈́̈́͘;̘͈̮̹̂̐̀̌.̦͉̫̩̍̾̃̚.̧̗̮͙͑̓̐͡.̫͇͓̓̐.̞̻̤͈̝̆͒̃̾͠.̨̜̙̒̐͌͟͝.̛̛̣̪̟̰͛̇'̩̑"͔̮̪̆̿̕;̡̬͕̇͛̍͗͜.͙̭̇̾.͖͖̅́̄̈͢͢ .̜̕=̖̃ .̝̼͂͛ ̰̤̘̞̺̓̍͆̾͞*̻͖̹̉̈́́̈͜.̢̣͒ ̪̘̺͇͒̋̆̌.̢̛͚͌ ̞͈̿̄.̧̛̬͉̭̏̅͌̇ͅ.̣̻̜̊̓͞ͅ.̨̙̝̿̕͠.̜̻͖͉͗̅͘͠*~̱͞.̮̙̍̚.̗̮̱̘͛̆̾̚͜.̟̐.͈̬̩̮̓̒́͆~̧͔̟̀̉̀ ͎͐.͇͙̥͋͆͘͝ͅ.̢̄ ̱̎ḥ̭̯̫̩̫̰̍̑̐̿̅̚ë̡̢̟̝̼́͊̂͛̒̓͟͢͝'̛̗̥̲̼̫͔̣͍͔̐͛̆̀͗̿̕̚͡ͅs̢̖̩̬͙̱̀̊͘͠͝͝ ̤̭̣͖̜̫̔̌͗͗͊̋̾͟j̡̤̱͉̻͉̥̾̄̾̌̎̒͟͝ü̮̥̞̖͎̼͌̿͗̑͛̑͜ͅș̛̪͕̠̭͇͇̈́̓̏̈̄̏͟t̼̮̼͎̗̬̬̤͎̲̻̒̓̋́͌͌͗̽̊̚͝ ͈͓̤͎̖̪͔̇̉̄̓̂̇͒̕͜͜ą̭̯̥̲̻̺̪̺̀̍͛̅̄̌̔̚͞ͅ ̛͈̪͖̠͔̻͐̄̂̈̚͞ͅķ̟̲̞̽͑͊͆͟͠ḯ̛̛͖̦̜̣͍̲̞͗̏̎̚ḍ͈̠͓̲̬̅̊̉͊͑͊̏͜.͎̞̣͋̈͘͠ͅ=̫͡.̧̢͍̈͞.͉͋-̤͖̤͓̬̓̌́̇͘..̲̲̍̋=-̩̜͆̋.̨̹̮̏́͂,̩̮̑͑.̙̜͚̝̑͒͋͑,̧͚͎̙̀͑̕-͓̪͔̜̿̎̌͌..͙͘.̼͎̄͂͒͌͜͢"͔̎..̖̘͉̭̿͒͘͠]̧͠;̘̤̳̼̏̽̓͆.̙̦̳͐͂͌.̳͈̉̾.̨̟̖͉͈̏̈́̈́͠.͙͊͛͢.͖̈́͜͠.͎͙̭̯̱̄̽̋͊̒'͑͢"͚͎̪͌͐̐;..̦͚̺̆͘̚ ̘̊͘͟.̞̹̙̦̈́̏̎͆=̯̙̔̉ ͍̝̲̊̿͞.̼͔̮͎̰͆̏̊̊̕ ͈̳̟̘̮̋͊̍͑͐*͙̃. .̢̧̡͉̌̿͒̎ ̛̗̖͚̦̏̽̐.̤̦̙͋̽̿̐͢.̢̗̗͑̊͊̿͟.̬̝̏̓.̤̇*̡̛͔̙̑̅~̬́.̠̩̣͋͐̎.̧̤͕͌̚͠.̺̠̟̾̕͠.̢̅̎͟~ ̯͍̭̿̎̈́ͅ.͙̄.̢̐͜͠ ̰̗̋̿.̨̦̝͛̇͡=̢̛.͔̅.̞̯͖̻̙̎̾͐̓͞-̰̔..=̛͇̰͈̟̪̏͐̉́-̪͉̙̽̈́̀.̂ͅ,.̬̟̥̭͐̇͘,̖̭͉͑̾-̰̥͖̀̋̍̕͢.͉̍.̧͖̆͒.͇̋̐̓͟ͅ"̦͡.̗͎̖̊͋̍̊ͅ.̜̚.̨̟̏͠.̡͔̠͑͡.̤̟̒̽'̡̺̇"̲͖͎̙̈́̎̕͞;̼̥̕͝.͖̼̀̔.͕͘ ͎̫̖͋̐̚.̺͔̭̃̎͒=̦͠ ͎̚.̲̦͓̝͒͆͘͡ ̧͚̖͗̓͠*̯̤͍͛̐͆.̰̻͂͂̐̅͟ͅ ̧̹̺̈͆͝.̯̻̾̌ ͉͗..̪̹̇̉.̤̤̖̌͋̆.̰̞̐̿*̡͖̮̹̐̀̐̽̍͢~͔̟͝..̘̯̤͊̏̉..͈̞̯̪͒͋̉́͢͝~̘̙͈̥̃̏̄̆ .͓̔.̺̘͉̝̀́̉̈́ ̤̯͔͍̈̾̐̕.=̢̗͗̚.͎̝͉̱̂̀͗͗.͚̳̭̉̓̒͜͝-̭̹͛̎̇͜.͍̏.̬̉=̝͊-̖̮̺͒̅͘.̨͕̽̕,̛̬̮̼͛͋.̨̪̻͖̣̉̄͒̓͌,-̗͉̀͠.̨͘.͇͍͕̭̟̍͗̌͡."̧͉̝̺̺̽̍̓͝]̹̈́̕̚͜ͅ.̡̠̹͎̅̾̊͞.̩̗͙̅̚̕]͖̭̮̠̑͌̾̌;̢̝̗͐͒͝.̧̏..̥̩̹̳̏̓̓͊.̥̲̔.͉̠͓̂̋̾͜.̟'̲̲̪͐͐͠";͓͠.̗̘̬̣̽̉̾͝.͔̣̔̏ ̭̬́͋.͔͉̫̭̑̄͒=̫ ̼͉͍̾̇͝.͙̙̑̉ ̖̞͘͝*. ̼̗̮̒́͐̍͘͢͜.()̼͓͈̣́̀̄_̠̳̙̝̍͐͋̋͟͡"̖̤͊̇̅ͅ}͍̰̮̌̏̈{̨͔̜̿̆ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t:͇̅͟͞ >͕͒.̙̿.̣͍͉͈͑̒͊͠.̧͇͉̋͗͛.'̰̟̿"̝̟͓̈́͒̆;̡͔̟̎̔͆͋ͅ..̡̽ ̼͉̺̺̊̓̂̔ ͕̳̇̓.̤̆.̡̛͕̌}͇͈̥̂͗{̳̻̖̋͐̄"̞̒?̲̑̇͢>͉̽<̫͌͋ͅ.̥͇̳̖͑̎̏͡.*̢̮̞̖̿̓͊͠~͓̞̰͗̿̅.̧̳́.̡̬̤͎͐̓̓̍.̦͡.̛̯̳̦͎̞͗̆̓͞~̢͠ ̮̬̩̓̋͘.̙͉̗͉̄̉͛͜͡͡.̭̙̃̅ ̽ͅ.͓̞͌͛͢͞=͓͉̍͒.̬͇̹̏͆̅̕͟.-̼̰͔̯͍͑͊̉̔͡.͙̮̦͈͗̃̃͠.=̫̳͒̑-.̪̩͎͇̎̆͊,̜̦̘͂̐̋.̼̥̉͊̓͜,͉̙͉̒̐̅͗͢-̯..̣͗.̠͍̠͑̆̕"̪̺̰̘͑̅͒̽[ ͚̰̾͡.̢̤̤̏̄̿.̠̘̈

 _ **}̳̾{̱͚͚̿̐"̱̘̱̘͖̾̏͑͞?͉͍͚̙̇̀͂͑ >̣̭̙̞͊͒̋̕].͎͌.̛̝͖̌]̛̞̟̼̹̑̎͆̄ͅ;̳͓̍.̜̰̖͓̍̆͌̑.̲̻͑͒̈́͢.̱̠͉͎̫̆̒͊̋̈́.̩̗̻̌́͘..̦̘̫͒͂͝'"̼̰̥̥̈́̐̅̆;̜̲͞.̗͍̣̔̌͗.̱̎.̟̽.̬̪͆̈.̍͢'̱̦̗̘͑̍̎̾͜"̰̹͗͞;͓͋.̖͊.͚̝̄̌ͅ ̱̞̤͛͝͡.̨͖̮͙͈̈́̓̋̄̒ .͔̳̑͞=̠͍͇͗͘ ̖͈̗̰̓͗̅̓̕͜.̻͆ ̪̻̔͌*̨̮̅̈̅͟.̡̙͂͞ ̦͔̰̄̃͘.͓̖̮͔̈̿͠͠ ̭͍͙̦͑͛̚͞.̜̤̜̒̇̅.͈͙͗͘.͎̻̗̖̎͋̓̅̈͢.̧̼̹̋̽̃*̧̗̎͘~͓͕̦̒͐̕.͍͕̄͝.͈̅.̼͑.̫̅~̢̮̟͒̓͟͞͡ ̣̤͊͊.͚̔.̭̖̣̼̒̎̎̔ ̘͕͇̣̅̄͒̚͢.̳̣̘̞̮͑͂͒͘**_=̲̂.̘̥̓.̡̬͉͈̀̆̆̕-̭̾.̫̲̤̽̇̈.̼̓=̬͆-͔̿.̘̌,.̢̬̪̓̽͘,̮̣̘̹͊́̑-͉̲̐̍.̻͎̹̘̖̔̓̏̚͝.̖̊.̫͉̞̲̓̃̕̚.͕.̯͖̮͔̏́͠͠]̛̫;̼̱̹͉̋͂͊̇̍͟..̢̬̼̎̑͘.̫͚̜͔̿̃̔͊..̢̥̪̍̑͆.̡̧̢̝̅͊̓̏'͇̒"̺̭̎̓;̫̽..̒ͅ ̥̫̂̽.̛̪̳̿.}͍̦́̐̓͟{̛̖̠̺́̑͑͜"͈͓̱̤̽̈́͐̓?̰̿>̢̚ ̠͊.̼̳̱͎̓̌̉͐=̣̙̼͈̓̔̍͆ ̡̺̞̖͉̄̈́̈͠. ̺̭̖͚͂̏͝͠*̻̹̙͛͊͗͘͜.̭̽*̲̺͍̈̾̚.̧͍̰͇̬̈̍̒̌ ̧̮̖̞̯͓͐́̓̒̂̾.̛̙̮̮͗͗ ̤̇.̼̲͉͍̉͊͆͒́ͅ.̙̖̩͈̭̅͌̔̎̈.̨̲͈̖̼̖̭͕̙̉͌͒̏̄̈́̇͘̚͢͡.͖̺̮͆͛̈͢*̪̝̱͇̞̫̗̄̐̑̅̚͠~̗̽.̞͔̩̤̝̹̘̪̣͛͑̔͗̒̑̾͘̕.̭͖͉̬͕̻̼̉͂͗̅͑̉̀͘ͅ.̧̢̫̩̝̟̪̈̐͌̎͛͞͡.̣̖̞͙̩͋̓̑̐͞ _ **~̛̘ ̹̦̯͉̮̹̼̇̊̄̽̽̔.̦̼͉̪͍̙̩͇̳̪̹͎̉͂͒͑̒̒̐̃̔̂͘.̢̨͓̤̞͉̖̠̜͓̻̌͊͗͐̇̈̊̔͊͗͊͜͠ ̣̩̎͑̽͢.̡̛͓͠=̫̽.̛̛̫͈̻͕̦̺́͂̇̚.̨̛̛͚̩͉̣̝͉͉̦̤̘̰̦̃̍́̎̄̈̚͘̚͠-̢̧̗̫̖̜̬̲͔͖̯̂͊͋͐͊̏̈́̆͒͆͝.͔̥̗̭̖͑̒̃̽͒̕ͅ.̮̅̑ͅ=̩͎̥̻̂̂-̨̨̨͙̟̖̜͎͔̜͉̄̅̐̃̅̿͑́́̅͠.͕̦͓͙̪̓̏͊̀̀**_ ,̣̙̜͗́̄̊͟.̗͖͎͍̠̻̥̭̔̌̀̆͆͘͘͢,̲̬͔̱̐͋͐̏-̩͓̯͙̗̗̥͓̌̒͑̄̓̄͆̚͟.͍̝̙̝͔̥͇͚̮̏̿̍̅̍̓͋͘͜͞͞.͍̈.̲̼̂̃̚ͅ"̢͕͔̦̉̾͝[̹͠].͓͔̖̱͔̲̘͛́̎̊͂̐͢.̥̘͊̿͢]̪̘͎̖̣̄̏̉̾̔͑̓͜͜;̩͚̝̣̘̅̇͒͠.̨͉̑̉.̛̙͖̟̠̟̯̦̓̒̿̏͊̚.̳͉͓̲̭͖͙̭͛̆̈́͊̿͛͞.̠͚͉̖̼̥̋̈̊̅͋͝.̯̤͎̏̽͝.̦̑̕͟'̡̰̬̲̃̿̾͋"̨͕̩̖͇̲̍̾̄̑̄̎;̡̰̭̅̀́.̭̓.̣͓̲̅̌͆ ̥̇̍ͅ.̢͖̞̳̼͓͓̃̈́̈́̐̀͠=̠͈̙̘̰̰͙̞͗͌͊̓͛̏́̕ ̝̤̞͔͛͗̽͂.͈̮̘͖͙̪̥̟͛͆͋͒̔̽̌̚͢͢͝͠ ̧̳͔̩̞͓͉̊͒̋͂̂̓̕*̫̭̭̥̟̓̀̉̓͠.̜̟̓̈ ̪̘̖͍͍̖̀͌͐͗͑͘͢͠.̡͈̜̳̫̤͐̿̃̇̍̄͟͝ ̪̜̗͂̽̊̀͟î̗̟̯͙̪͎̰͖͛̒̌͋̚̚͝ ̢̡̛̛̦͍͚̯͓͍͇̣̝͒͛͒̿̔͛̉̈̍͘͟͢c̡̩͙͇̜̖̱̯͔̞̦̃͊͌͛̑̑͌̆̔͋̕̕͟ͅan͙͎̿͐́͢'̡̬̬̟͓̉̌̐̌̇͞ͅt̢̢̧̨̩̣̥̒̒͒̌̑͝ ̼͚̱̃͋̌͟d̢̛̩̖͉̲͙̠͚̪͔͑̅̑̉̈̃̉̔̚ͅo̹̠͂͂ ̺̖̞͎͓͓̠̺̎̉̇̓͐̉̈̑͟͠t̰͉̂͆h̨̧͕̱͖͇̬̳̙̒̎́̋̿̿̅͜͞͝i̢̛͈̪̗͎̤̠̘̲̬̰͛̓͋̓̂̂̓̂̇̽̽͟s̡̡̻͙͕͎̭̲̖͙̊̓̾͐̿͂̒͂̊̽͜͡ ̢̐t̤̩̫̼̘̣̫̳͚̏͌̂͂͗̄̋̔̕ͅõ͙̱̝̙̠͒͛̑͊̒͜ ̛̞̥̣͇̔̔͑ť̨̘̩̠̟̦͙̯͌͑̅͛̈́͋h̰̤̹͐͑͑͠ͅę̙̯̟̭̖̬̜́̀̊͗̓̓͗͘m̛̗̼͖̥͍̳͚͎͙̫̑̾͊̿͐̈̃͠.̫̲̝͍̎̿̄̿̔̌͟͜.̢̧̛̣̩̼̭̦̙̠̘̃͐̑͗̌͌͒͘͞.̼͓̤̳͛͐͋͞.̺̤̗͉͚̩͙͖̩̍̏̄̑̉͛͑̏͗͟͝*̨̣̙̤̄͛̎̏͢͡~̡̙̝̪͔̟̳̈͐̑̓̑̚̚͠ͅ.̡̨̗̞͓̣̘̍̓͗̒̓̾͡.̳̼̮̮̈́̈́̈́͆̌́͟͟.̝̥̪͍͍͍̳̼͐́͊̽͊̐̒͢͝͞͠ͅ.̰͓͎̭̤̪̭̞͌̇̅̀̑͋͒͘~̞͔͕̺̙͙͕̭̗̺̈́́̅͆́͜͞͠͞ ̺͕͔̗̙̔͒͆̄̚.͉͙͖̲͚̂̇͡͞.̬͚͋̾ ͖̳̈́͡.̢͚͓̺͚͇̗̃͑̽̌̋̎͝=͓͉͚̥̲̹͚͆̂̇́̃͗.̧̡͈͈̭̘̋͋̎̇̂͂.̨̛̝̩͙͓̖̞͓̋̾̈́̎͌̽̈́͜-̢̳̦͊̌̑.̭̗̦̱̄͊̂͝.̢͚̹̝͕̪̖̊̎͌̈͘͡=̨̜̟̪̽̂̓̌̔ͅ-̬̌̔͟.͍̱̼͑͆̕,.͎͎̣̦̝̫̘͑̓̀̾̅̌̿͢͞,̨̱͈͉̩̠̬̓͂̌̌͠-̨̨̘̫̙̤̫̰̘̂̈̇̓̇̌͊̍͞.̘̙̏̄.̼̯̱͈̫̰̻̮͋̒͑̅͐̉̎͜͞͠.͉̃"̖͡[̢̤͇̱̇́͂̽̂̎͟ͅ]̘̺̟̖͙̻̝̠̩̏̐̊̔̅̇͂̈́̆.̗̭̙̌̉͞.̲̰̌̚]̡̧̨̝̩̣͕̗̦͎͌̈́̈́̍̃̚̕͘͜͡͞;̡̫̘͈̮̹͍̋̂̐̒̀̌̓.̥̦͉͎̫̩̪̓̍̾̃̚͝͝.̧͓̗̮͙͑̓͌̐͡.̢͎̫͇͓̣̅̓̐̈́͝.͓͇̫̞̻̞̤̣͈̗̝̆̈́̾͒̾̃̾̈̽̾͠.̧̨̝̜̙̌̒̿̐͌͟͝.̛̛̯̮̼̣̪̟̬̰̦̀͛̇̓̄̇'̩̑"̼̝͔̠̮̪̆͋̿̏͛̕;̡̦͉̺̬͕̇͛̍͗͜͡.͍̬͙̭̇͒̾̈́.̡͖͕̺͖̑̅́̄̈̅̅̅͢͢ͅ .̜̕=͇̖̣̍̃̋ .̰̝̼̖͂͛̎̌ ̛̰̗̼̰̹̤̪̘̮̞̺̓̍͆̏̾͌̄́͘͞*̛̥̯͓̻̻̣͖̤̹̉̆̈́́̾̈̔͛̒͜.̢͖̣̔͒ ̘̪̘̳̺͇͇͒̏̋̆̌̒̾.̢̛̺͚̠͌̈̚ ̠̞͈̗̿̄͝.̧̛̼̦̙̬͉̭̏̅͑͌̇͑̂̕ͅͅ.̳̩̣̦̮̻̜̺̔̊͂̓̆̓͞͡ͅ.̨̥̙̝̿̕͠͝.̲͔̜̥̻͖͉̼͗̽̅̃͌͌͘͠*~̱͞.̤̰̮̥̙̆̍̏̚̕.̢̨̗̠̮̱̘̉͛͐̆̈̾̚͘͜͜.̟̣̐͠.̨͔͈̬͙̩̟̮͐̓̒́͆͛̀͘~̡̧̬͙̳̲͔̟̬̆̀̉̀̎͊̋̕͡ ͎̙͐͘.̼͇͈͙͓̥̼͋͆͆̇͘͝͝ͅ.̢̨̭͍̓̄̽̉ ͖̝̱̽̎͑.̨̘̹͎̯̞̫͖̣͋͂͊̈̋͑̋͛͘͠ͅ=̨̱̫͗̚͡.̧̢͇͍͔͆̈̏͞.̗̘͉͎̆͋̅́-̜͕̳̤͖̤̼͓̬̓̌́̇̓̀̚͘͞.͓̽.͎̪̲̲̍̍̋͞=-̡̛͓̩͔̜͆̍̋̂͜͠.̨̻͓̹̫̮̭̏́͌͂͆͂͞,̰̤̰̩̬̮͔͛̑̽͑̒̑͠.̧͙̟̙̜͙͚̝̑́͒͋̋͑̾̀,̧̤͚͎̺̙̰̊̀͑̑͗̕-̧̛͓̺̪͔̗̜̿̎̌͋͌͒̐͟͜.̢̎.͙͘.̠͇̰̼͎͆̄͂̃͒͆͌͜͢"͙͔̎͡..̨̖̯̖̲̘͉̱̭̗̿͒͊̆̋͛͘͘͠͞]̧̛̲͍́͠;̨͕̣͍̘̤̖̳̼̾̏̿̽͗̓͆̏̿ͅ.̢̠̺̼̙̦̖̳̹͐͂͌́͘͘͘͠͝.̳͙͈̦̉̾̅͐.̨͖̳̟̦̖͉̘͔͈̾̏̈́̈́͐̌̊̎͢͠͝͞ͅ.̛̯͙̺̩͊͛͗̋͢.̛̼͖̫̦̈́͜͝͠͡.̣̤̱͎͙̗̭̯̩̱̹̎̄̽̋̊͊̒̌̋̇͞'̪̼͑͌͢͠"̢̬̻͚͎̪̇͌͐̐̕͠;.̨̎.̘̯̦͚̺͚̃̆̊̀͑͘̚͟ ͎̱̘̌̊̽͘͟.̖̤̞̭̹͙̙̯̦͍̈́̏̒̎͆̀̔͋̓͆=̯̙͕̇̔̉̎͟ ̺͍͚̝̗̲̊̊̿̈͞͝.̨͍̲̼͔͕̮͎̰͆̏̉̊̿̊͗̾̕ ̥̼̺̥͈̳̟̲̘̮͆̋̈́͊͛̍̃͑͐͗̕ͅ*͙̃. ̞̇.̢̧̡͕̼̟͉̺͉̺̳̺̓̌̿̍͒̎͊̏̌̿̕ ̛̭̖̗͇̖̦͚̦̏̓̽́̐̋̄.̢̛̘̙̯̗̤̻̦̙̔͋̃̽̿̐͆̇͢͞.̨̢̥͖͔̗̗̓͑͑̊̌͊̿͟͞.̤̮̬̝̖̃̏̓̿̿.̤̇*̡̛̠͓͔͚̙̑͒̅͊̚~̬̘́̆.̝̠̩̣̣̽͋͐̎̅ ̰́.̣̩͔͗͛̚ ̬̾.̟̙͊̕..̠͑.̺͖̖̓̅̃̑͢.̻̕'̛̣̘̝̄̚"̩͎͐̉;̻̲̹̮̌̀̿̎.̲̬̌͠.̻̄ ̼̝̮͒̆̚.̬͓͓̲̊̔͞͞ͅ.̠͖̠̓͌͗͋͜.̢̻̃͐*͓͍͚̜̒̽̆͌~̛̣.̡̪̺̩̙̓̊̑̏͝.̛͖̜͒.̞̜̗̰͒̒̿̆ ̛̳̻͎̯̿̇͛.̬̳͊͡.̲̰̩̺̈͆͘͠}̞̊{̹̣̄̃"?>̪̯̘̙̂̀̊͌.̭̰͐̓ ̯͈̳͌̐͐̊ͅ..}̩̻̼͋̾̈{̧͉̹͉̃̅̊͜͡͠"̮̂?>͙̻̈́͠~ ̧̳̗͊̈́͌.̢̊̌ͅ.͓̽ ͇̹̌̎̊͟.̠̻̤͉̹͑͐͒̈́́=̹̮͍̔̔̇.̻̒̕͟.͕̜̻̌̾͐͢͡-.̠̬̋͘.=̦̲͐̇-̩͡

.̟̊,.̤͗,̒ͅ-͈̱̱̈́̈͜.̬̪̌̒.͍.̧̘̗̭́̓͆̓͘͜"̹͖͓̍[̤̬̎̒͟͠.̢̲͖̆̈͝.̘̓];͎̾.̼̠̓̍.̠̮̫͊̊̍̆ͅ.̱̭̋͠..̠̋.̳̍'"̹̥̻͂̌͑;̫̋.̡͙͎͇͍̍̈́̿̎ ̨̪̥̫̘̿͆͊̍̕.͈͔͊̚.̨̉}͍̱̦̼̉́̄̽͟͞{̡̓̌̕͟͟"̮̹͗͌?̡̰̳́̓͠>̢̱͑̄͢.̧̢̖̝͕̾͑̚͡ ͙̹͈̦̦̏̌͑̒. ̰̹̪̻͈̒͛͐̊ ̨̞͎̒́.͉͖̓̓͗ͅ ̡̛̟̳̮͆͆͒.̡̥̮̩̀͒͠͠=̟̹̪͖̜̇̉͆̃̍ ̞̲̺͓͐̈̋̔.̖͡ ̙̼̝͈̖̇̇̑̎͆*͙͠. ͈̜̎͡.̧̡̇̒ ̢̢̘͔͒̇̂͠.̣̺̰̋͘͘.̧͕͙̎̂̽̈͢.̪̱͓̂̒̀.͔͂ͅ*̱͂~.̬͈͕͋̔.̳̽.̛͈̻̼͊̐͢͠.̯͎̔̐~̛̭̠̈́ ̧̩̋͌.͔̲̀͋. [̫̑͜͠.̭̬̟̒͋͡.̰͙͔̱̓̿̈̃,̢̲̩̚͞͝.̪̳̩̗̔̃̊͘'̧̠̰̦̤̓͗̄̉͘'̦̣̳̹̓̃̆͊]̦̿}̛͎̹̗͔̅̂́͢\̢̲̼͌͂͐/̬̕~̛̠̝̭̘̳̋͊̓`̻̘̦̾͘`̧̛̙̺͇͔̍̍̐ ̪͚̭̺͐̉̾͠ **ḭ̢̗͔̔͑͗̚**  ̱̏ **cä̡͓̥̦͖͛͐̕͡** n̢͖͈̞̗̋͒͆͌͠'̢̩̩̗̀̍͂̚ť͇͚̲̐̾̃͢ ̜̒?̥̼̮͂̄̃͟͞>̠̤̈́͝"̺̺̑̕:̡͎̟̼̎̾͆͐ ͙̱̕͠d̩̬̺̀̄̍ö̲͓́̌ ̈ͅt͈͝h **i̙͗s͇̬̰͔͊͒̇͋**  ͓̖͓̒̕t͕̿o ̖̊̋͜t͈̊́͜h̛̜͆͢e̳̗̣̜̒̒̓̑̿ͅm̨̌ ̢̮̠̦̀̄̆̂>

"̟̣̉͞:̨̕"͙̖̿̕:'̭̩̗̘̈́͑̔͞'.̜̈́.͍̹͓͗͂̿/,̩͓͇̮͚͋͌͂̇͑.̩͚̤̏̎̒̊͜<̭͓͚͗̉?̻͗'͙̩͗͝]̳̅[͈̤̤͙̐̉̊͡-̯̍=̳͘-̦͓̿̂ ̖̠͚̍̏͗.͖͔̿͗=̛͚̲̮͂̿.̼̱͑͒͛͟͟͝.̡͓̫̭͆̾̔̓-̘̔.͙̯͌̈́.̳̇=̙̥͎̍͋̎-̡̪͔̈́͞͠.̨͉̙̣͛̔͆̓,̻͎̉̎̑͟͢.̩̹̔̂̽͟,̳̻͛͋-̡̨͖̳̄̃͑͌͝ͅ.̣̓.̛̳̮͇͇̊͋͋.̞̝͘̕"̧̦̫̊̓͞[̦̻͎̖̼̉̃̎͛̔]̹͖̣͔̐̔͊͝.̼͔̻̒̿͗.͙̮͑̔]̬̲̈́̐;̖̯̼̌́͘.̦̐.̢̮͇͕̇͌̏̊̊͜.̤̽̍ͅ.͉̋.͓̻̝̇͘.̬̮͍͛̿̓͢͡'͙̓"̟̿;̙̭͗͗̽͜..͕̟̝̂͗̍ .͚͕̓̆ **ḥ̭̯̫̩̫̰̍̑̐̿̅̚** ë̡̢̟̝̼́͊̂͛̒̓͟͢͝ **'̛̗̥̲̼̫͔̣͍͔̐͛̆̀͗̿̕̚͡ͅs̢̖̩̬͙̱̀̊͘͠͝͝ ̤̭̣͖̜̫̔̌͗͗͊̋̾͟j̡̤̱͉̻͉̥̾̄̾̌̎̒͟͝** _ü̮̥̞̖͎̼͌̿͗̑͛̑͜ͅș̛̪͕̠̭͇͇̈́̓̏̈̄̏͟t̼̮̼͎̗̬̬̤͎̲̻̒̓̋́͌͌͗̽̊̚͝ ͈͓̤͎̖̪͔̇̉̄̓̂̇͒̕͜͜ą̭̯̥̲̻̺̪̺̀̍͛̅̄̌̔̚͞ͅ_ ** _̛͈̪͖̠͔̻͐̄̂̈̚͞ͅķ̟̲̞̽͑͊͆͟͠ḯ̛̛͖̦̜̣͍̲̞͗̏̎̚_ ḍ͈̠͓̲̬̅̊̉͊͑͊̏͜**= ͗͟.͎̰͂̚ ͉̲̓̃*̩̕.̼͘ ̧̛̳̞͛͐.͎̲̄͌ ̹̤̜̠͑͐̋̾͋͟..̣̫̓͡.̤̃.̨̛̼͓̲͛̉͞*̗̤͖̤̓͐̓̚~̭̺̦͑̓̐.̗͈̅̕.̨̯͑̉.̨̙̹̈̿̾.͔̘̮̗͋̓̒͆~̜̲̝̪͌̃̕͞ ̹͍̠̈̊̕.̳̇̌͜.̨͕̰̐̆̏͐͜ ̖̯̠̙̩̄̇̈́̕͝.=̭̹̻̪̇͒͐͘.̥͓̐̌.̦̫̜͉͌̈̈́̿-.̳͙̍́.̳̐͑ͅ=̣̭͍̈́̓͒-̛̝̯̥̯̊͠.̘̞̻̜̄̄̈͒̕ͅ,.̢̱̦̔̿͊,-.͇̿.̤̹̿.̛͉͍̣̣͒͛̇"[]̧̤̘̟̆̏̈..̘̤̪̥̍̏̓͒]͎͒̓͢;̤̥̊.̢́.̮̹̭̈́̅̚.̞͘..̦̞̹̍͗͂.͉̺̮͌͊̇̔͢'͈́"̱̚;̻̱̳̿̓̅͒͢.̘̗̼̈̓̂̑͜.̳̯̼͙̅̀͘̕ ̡̦̫̣̀͛͌͘.=͕̌͢͞ ͎̗̈͆.̺͇̑͞ ͉̮̙̆͆͋*͙̜͎̹̽̌͠.͙̳̯̦̌͋̊͘ ̭̋̈́̈́ͅͅ.̧̫͇̔̅̓ ̧̹̈̚.͚̪̻̜̏͛̍̒.̤̂.͎͗̊͢.͂ͅ*̖̃~̩̄͟͝.̚͜..̨̘̦̲̉͗̊͘͝ͅ.̨͙͖͌̈̓~̥͍̰̘̊̔͘͞ ̺͙̝̎̔̿͑͜.͙̘͖̓̋͆. ͚͘.̣̦̦̝͎́͒̿̈=͉̳͎̤̓̐̽.̼̙͓̓͛̏.̭͇̆͂-͚̮͛̌͢͠.̡͆.͈͚̺̑̌̅=͙͇̞̭̔̾̓̈͜͝-̢̗͚̐̄̈́.̛̜̹̤͔̈̏̃,̟͉͙̐̂̕.̬̗̦̻̊̔̃̀,̼̬̇̿-̨̗̜͕̂́̎.̰̫̩͔̇͂̽͘.̛͎͉͈̠̅̄̍.̜̟̳͈̼̋̐͑̂̕"̨͙̪͆͛.̖̝͆̽

.̺̣̈́̽]̬̓;͇̟͒̅͟͞.̰͂͜͡.̤̘̜͓̐̅̾̈.̨̬̻̲̍̌͛̅.̨̲̪̱̰̑̅̓͐͡.̧̧͚̜̿̊̏͝.̟̎'̨̛̰̣̩͐̏̑̚͜"̣̩̜̅͛̾͢͞;̮̗̻̽̑̚.͓̑.̰̼͗̋ ̦͔̪̜͕͂̆̾͡.̟͛=̖͂ ̦̭̑.̧̢̨̛̈͋͢͠ ̕͜*͕̺̲̊̊͋.̡͕̈́̂ ̞̗̹̙͖̐͒̄̀͡.̪̥͒͞ ̞̩̠̩̰̏̆͗͋̐.͎͕̰̔́̎.̩̂.̫̎.̺̰͘͠*̰̃~͖̫̿͆͐ͅ.̣̠̮͚̑̈̕.̡̭̪̿̿̕͟.̤̜̱̾̔̚.̬̪̄̕~̯̥̘̺̈́͂͐̑̊͟ ͓̞͑̕.̖̤̘́̊͝.͍̳͌̔͞ͅ ̢̧̫̘̑͌͗̎͆͢.͎̱̜̌͗͗=̢̛͖̱̗̀̉̍̔ͅ.̥̆.̘͚͐̔-̢̏.̤̮̄̚.̬̫̈͠=͙̣̙̆̔͠-̤̤̓̏.͕̦̻̂̓͒̽ͅ,͕͙̞̓̅̋.,̺̝̝̔̅͛͝ͅ-͉̮̭̱̈̄͋́.̩̙̻̌̃͡.̫͉̈͆.̜̭͓̅̿̃"̱͕̅̕.͙̪͖͛͢͝͝.̪̟̝͈̭̆̉̃͞͞.͔͚̈́̕.̢͇̺̀͛̍̆͢.̣̄'̡̃"̢́͌͟;͋͢.͛͘͟͟.̢̹͍͛̇͘͟ ̘̿̄ͅ.̼̱̓̿͢͠=͓̳͓͂͒͠͞ͅ ̞̭̘̐̕͝.̨̈́ *.̨̯̣͖̐͒̑̚ ̙͓͕͍͐̎͆̆͢.̯̼̤̙̅̾̎̐ ͚͈̼̾̾̋.͚̙̙̒̀͝..̠͉̹̽͌̅.͙͡*̡̻̙̬̆̾͋̚͜~̳̪̺̘̋͛̌͛.̡̡̢͓̈́̔͞͝͝ͅ.͖͍̹̌̈̏̐͟.̢͎͉̣̿̎̍͘.̜͚̤̪̋̄̈̚~̣̌ .̹̓.̝̆̾͟ ̗̃.͍͇̎̐=̣̤͌̂.̥̱̎̍.̡͍̝̻͌̈͘͠-̩̓͟͞

ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t.̠̩̔͛.=̱̞̣͐͋̇-̘͛.͈̄,̢͇̰̃͂̅.̥̯̗̉̎̀͌͜,͎͈̥̲̒͋̏͠-̧̬͍̖̊̋̚͘.̼̰̘̆͆͡.̳͘.͖̻̱̇͑͡͡ͅ"̠̃]̨̥͊̾͠ͅ.̪͎̦̎͂.̛͚̮̦̇̋]͍͆;̝͐.̘̘̲̊͂̆̊͜.̩͈̼̪̏̒̓͛.͒͜.̜̃.̺͗.̩̱̄͝'̤͚̹̭̿͠͞"̜̖̲̬͂͐͛͂;̯͡.͈̫̻͚̽̊̚̕.̘͇̙̀͊͘͢͠ ͕̝̩̓͒̅̅͜.̦̐=̢̣̂͝ ̛̦.̣̥͓͛̃̍ ͖̖̳̑́͂*̨̤͉̞̀̊̍͘.̯̕ ̟͎̟̦̦͌̑̊̎͝.̱̠͍̕͘͝(̼͈͖̚͡)̤͙͔̌͊̍_̢̞̺̺̾̿̂̓"͔͋̓ͅ}̝̥̪̲̇̂͘͡{̨͓̍͘:>̠̲̭̃͒̚.̤͊.̢̦͍̑́̔͢͠.̘͕̉̋ _ **.̦͔̤̎̉̽'̤̱̮̤̇͋̐͆"̡̯͍̼͒͌̾̕;̫̩͗͝.͎̬̿̌.͍͙͓̟̭̃̽͐͒͊ *̲̺͍̈̾̚.̧͍̰͇̬̈̍̒̌ ̧̮̖̞̯͓͐́̓̒̂̾.̛̙̮̮͗͗ ̤̇.̼̲͉͍̉͊͆͒́ͅ.̙̖̩͈̭̅͌̔̎̈.̨̲͈̖̼̖̭͕̙̉͌͒̏̄̈́̇͘̚͢͡.͖̺̮͆͛̈͢*̪̝̱͇̞̫̗̄̐̑̅̚͠~̗̽.̞͔̩̤̝̹̘̪̣͛͑̔͗̒̑̾͘̕.̭͖͉̬͕̻̼̉͂͗̅͑̉̀͘ͅ.̧̢̫̩̝̟̪̈̐͌̎͛͞͡.̣̖̞͙̩͋̓̑̐͞~̛̘ ̹̦̯͉̮̹̼̇̊̄̽̽̔.̦̼͉̪͍̙̩͇̳̪̹͎̉͂͒͑̒̒̐̃̔̂͘.̢̨͓̤̞͉̖̠̜͓̻̌͊͗͐̇̈̊̔͊͗͊͜͠ ̣̩̎͑̽͢.̡̛͓͠=̫̽.̛̛̫͈̻͕̦̺́͂̇̚.̨̛̛͚̩͉̣̝͉͉̦̤̘̰̦̃̍́̎̄̈̚͘̚͠**_ -̢̧̗̫̖̜̬̲͔͖̯̂͊͋͐͊̏̈́̆͒͆͝.͔̥̗̭̖͑̒̃̽͒̕ͅ.̮̅̑ͅ=̩͎̥̻̂̂-̨̨̨͙̟̖̜͎͔̜͉̄̅̐̃̅̿͑́́̅͠.͕̦͓͙̪̓̏͊̀̀,̣̙̜͗́̄̊͟.̗͖͎͍̠̻̥̭̔̌̀̆͆͘͘͢,̲̬͔̱̐͋͐̏-̩͓̯͙̗̗̥͓̌̒͑̄̓̄͆̚͟.͍̝̙̝͔̥͇͚̮̏̿̍̅̍̓͋͘͜͞͞.͍̈.̲̼̂̃̚ͅ"̢͕͔̦̉̾͝[̹͠].͓͔̖̱͔̲̘͛́̎̊͂̐͢.̥̘͊̿͢ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t]̪̘͎̖̣̄̏̉̾̔͑̓͜͜;̩͚̝̣̘̅̇͒͠.̨͉̑̉.̛̙͖̟̠̟̯̦̓̒̿̏͊̚.̳͉͓̲̭͖͙̭͛̆̈́͊̿͛͞.̠͚͉̖̼̥̋̈̊̅͋͝.̯̤͎̏̽͝.̦̑̕͟'̡̰̬̲̃̿̾͋"̨͕̩̖͇̲̍̾̄̑̄̎;̡̰̭̅̀́.̭̓.̣͓̲̅̌͆ ̥̇̍ͅ.̢͖̞̳̼͓͓̃̈́̈́̐̀͠=̠͈̙̘̰̰͙̞͗͌͊̓͛̏́̕ ̝̤̞͔͛͗̽͂.͈̮̘͖͙̪̥̟͛͆͋͒̔̽̌̚͢͢͝͠ ̧̳͔̩̞͓͉̊͒̋͂̂̓̕*̫̭̭̥̟̓̀̉̓͠.̜̟̓̈ ̪̘̖͍͍̖̀͌͐͗͑͘͢͠.̡͈̜̳̫̤͐̿̃̇̍̄͟͝ ̪̜̗͂̽̊̀͟.̫̲̝͍̎̿̄̿̔̌͟͜.̢̧̛̣̩̼̭̦̙̠̘̃͐̑͗̌͌͒͘͞.̼͓̤̳͛͐͋͞.̺̤̗͉͚̩͙͖̩̍̏̄̑̉͛͑̏͗͟͝*̨̣̙̤̄͛̎̏͢͡~̡̙̝̪͔̟̳̈͐̑̓̑̚̚͠ͅ ̨͈̼̰̱̱̙̰̼̹̓͋͐͗̄̓̍̿͞.̨̹͈̗̣̻̈́̋̉͊̇̍̑͟͠ͅ ̖͚̻͎̙̭͛̐͑͑̊̚͟͠*̹͙͈͑̆̎͋ͅ.̢͕͈̣̫̻̩̬̩̫̟̀́̅̿̃̀̽̏̀̐̏̊̄͂͜͟͢ ̢̨̡͖̠̝͔͉̩̹̪͇͙̟̰̩̤̫̎̓́͒̆̉͗̅̔̽̏̒̒̅̚͘͡.̨͍̠̥͚̤̖̾͊̈́́̈̆̚ ̢͙̖̞͎̗̼̦̰̒͗̑͛̍̎̀̅͡.̨͚̓.̡͍͙̰͔̻̮͙̰̞̼̿͒̎̓̂̔̓̑́͢͝͠͠.̭̙̤̖̋͐.̢̛̦̹̟̰̩̲̩̪̽́̓̏̓̕̕*̧̪̗̣͙̈́̇̅̆̓~̢͔̭͇̱̬̐̉͑̊̓͛̀͟͟.̧̨̛̩͈̳̹̻̟̯̣̹̠̇̽͛̔̄̃̓̽̓̄͘̚ͅ.͍͙͍́̈́͝.̪̞͎̳̖̙̱̩͍̑̇̓̽̈͛̊͋̍͜͝.̧̝͗͠~̪͛ ͙̟̬̙̲̙̌̄̒͑͝.̡̙͙̹̗͎̌̎̉̌̊̇͘͜.̤̬͈̞̭͖̦̻͓̗͂̍̔̓̃͘͘͝ ̘͆.̻͊=̧̢̱̩͆̽̕͡.͎̪̅̃.-̨̺̻͔̞͇̺̭̬̹̓̽̂̂̓̈̌̂̄͂͋͟͜͞.̨͎̝̘̙̥͔͚̯̻̠͗̅̊̄̑͌̏͆̑͌͘͢͠.̡͕̥̭̜̱̑̒̇̎̾̓͜͝=̡̲͙̼͎͋͊̍͋͐͊͒͜ͅ-͍̩̠̖̩̻̅̓̽̎͝͞͞ͅ.,̧̯͑͗̎͟.̨͗,̩͕̤͛̍̔͘͢-͔͓͈͍̠̉̅̌̕͝.̨̲̖͈̌́͝͠.̨̗͚̖̙̉̅͊̏͊͒͢.̥̭͓̻̜͒́̉͑͛͐̆͢ͅ.̯̰̟̹̦̦͚͕͎͂͆̑̏̋̒̔͆̈́͡ͅ.̨̛̠͓̦̜̗̖̦͈̑̓͌̋̉̄͞]̩̜̖͕͉͚̖̥̆̔̂̈́̿̕͞;̨͖͓̣͕̯͕̫͍̺̺͚͖̋̂̓̑̓̄͗͋̿̇̊͌̊̑͌͋͟͢ͅ.̡̺̳͍̓̾̐͘.̢̤̳͈͇͍̻̥͔̯̐̒͋͋͛̉́͠͞.̖̦̗̮̆̓́̒̔̚ͅͅ.̨̜̥͓̜̭͆̅̄͛̕͞.̨͈͓̟͊̍̓̔.̡̨̗̞͓̣̘̍̓͗̒̓̾͡.̳̼̮̮̈́̈́̈́͆̌́͟͟.̝̥̪͍͍͍̳̼͐́͊̽͊̐̒͢͝͞͠ͅ.̰͓͎̭̤̪̭̞͌̇̅̀̑͋͒͘~̞͔͕̺̙͙͕̭̗̺̈́́̅͆́͜͞͠͞ ̺͕͔̗̙̔͒͆̄̚.͉͙͖̲͚̂̇͡͞.̬͚͋̾ ͖̳̈́͡.̢͚͓̺͚͇̗̃͑̽̌̋̎͝=͓͉͚̥̲̹͚͆̂̇́̃͗.̧̡͈͈̭̘̋͋̎̇̂͂.̨̛̝̩͙͓̖̞͓̋̾̈́̎͌̽̈́͜-̢̳̦͊̌̑.̭̗̦̱̄͊̂͝.̢͚̹̝͕̪̖̊̎͌̈͘͡=̨̜̟̪̽̂̓̌̔ͅ-̬̌̔͟.͍̱̼͑͆̕,.͎͎̣̦̝̫̘͑̓̀̾̅̌̿͢͞,̨̱͈͉̩̠̬̓͂̌̌͠-̨̨̘̫̙̤̫̰̘̂̈̇̓̇̌͊̍͞.̘̙̏̄.̼̯̱͈̫̰̻̮͋̒͑̅͐̉̎͜͞͠.͉̃"̖͡[̢̤͇̱̇́͂̽̂̎͟ͅ]̘̺̟̖͙̻̝̠̩̏̐̊̔̅̇͂̈́̆.̗̭̙̌̉͞.̲̰̌̚]̡̧̨̝̩̣͕̗̦͎͌̈́̈́̍̃̚̕͘͜͡͞;̡̫̘͈̮̹͍̋̂̐̒̀̌̓.̥̦͉͎̫̩̪̓̍̾̃̚͝͝.̧͓̗̮͙͑̓͌̐͡.̢͎̫͇͓̣̅̓̐̈́͝.͓͇̫̞̻̞̤̣͈̗̝̆̈́̾͒̾̃̾̈̽̾͠.̧̨̝̜̙̌̒̿̐͌͟͝.̛̛̯̮̼̣̪̟̬̰̦̀͛̇̓̄̇'̩̑"̼̝͔̠̮̪̆͋̿̏͛̕;̡̦͉̺̬͕̇͛̍͗͜͡.͍̬͙̭̇͒̾̈́.̡͖͕̺͖̑̅́̄̈̅̅̅͢͢ͅ .̜̕=͇̖̣̍̃̋ .̰̝̼̖͂͛̎̌ ̛̰̗̼̰̹̤̪̘̮̞̺̓̍͆̏̾͌̄́͘͞*̛̥̯͓̻̻̣͖̤̹̉̆̈́́̾̈̔͛̒͜.̢͖̣̔͒ ̘̪̘̳̺͇͇͒̏̋̆̌̒̾.̢̛̺͚̠͌̈̚ ̠̞͈̗̿̄͝.̧̛̼̦̙̬͉̭̏̅͑͌̇͑̂̕ͅͅ.̳̩̣̦̮̻̜̺̔̊͂̓̆̓͞͡ͅ.̨̥̙̝̿̕͠͝.̲͔̜̥̻͖͉̼͗̽̅̃͌͌͘͠*~̱͞.̤̰̮̥̙̆̍̏̚̕.̢̨̗̠̮̱̘̉͛͐̆̈̾̚͘͜͜.̟̣̐͠.̨͔͈̬͙̩̟̮͐̓̒́͆͛̀͘~̡̧̬͙̳̲͔̟̬̆̀̉̀̎͊̋̕͡ ͎̙͐͘.̼͇͈͙͓̥̼͋͆͆̇͘͝͝ͅ.̢̨̭͍̓̄̽̉ ͖̝̱̽̎͑.̨̘̹͎̯̞̫͖̣͋͂͊̈̋͑̋͛͘͠ͅ=̨̱̫͗̚͡.̧̢͇͍͔͆̈̏͞.̗̘͉͎̆͋̅́-̜͕̳̤͖̤̼͓̬̓̌́̇̓̀̚͘͞.͓̽.͎̪̲̲̍̍̋͞=-̡̛͓̩͔̜͆̍̋̂͜͠.̨̻͓̹̫̮̭̏́͌͂͆͂͞,̰̤̰̩̬̮͔͛̑̽͑̒̑͠.̧͙̟̙̜͙͚̝̑́͒͋̋͑̾̀,̧̤͚͎̺̙̰̊̀͑̑͗̕-̧̛͓̺̪͔̗̜̿̎̌͋͌͒̐͟͜.̢̎.͙͘.̠͇̰̼͎͆̄͂̃͒͆͌͜͢"͙͔̎͡..̨̖̯̖̲̘͉̱̭̗̿͒͊̆̋͛͘͘͠͞]̧̛̲͍́͠;̨͕̣͍̘̤̖̳̼̾̏̿̽͗̓͆̏̿ͅ.̢̠̺̼̙̦̖̳̹͐͂͌́͘͘͘͠͝.̳͙͈̦̉̾̅͐.̨͖̳̟̦̖͉̘͔͈̾̏̈́̈́͐̌̊̎͢͠͝͞ͅ.̛̯͙̺̩͊͛͗̋͢.̛̼͖̫̦̈́͜͝͠͡.̣̤̱͎͙̗̭̯̩̱̹̎̄̽̋̊͊̒̌̋̇͞'̪̼͑͌͢͠"̢̬̻͚͎̪̇͌͐̐̕͠;.̨̎.̘̯̦͚̺͚̃̆̊̀͑͘̚͟ ͎̱̘̌̊̽͘͟.̖̤̞̭̹͙̙̯̦͍̈́̏̒̎͆̀̔͋̓͆=̯̙͕̇̔̉̎͟ ̺͍͚̝̗̲̊̊̿̈͞͝.̨͍̲̼͔͕̮͎̰͆̏̉̊̿̊͗̾̕ ̥̼̺̥͈̳̟̲̘̮͆̋̈́͊͛̍̃͑͐͗̕ͅ*͙̃. ̞̇.̢̧̡͕̼̟͉̺͉̺̳̺̓̌̿̍͒̎͊̏̌̿̕ ̛̭̖̗͇̖̦͚̦̏̓̽́̐̋̄.̢̛̘̙̯̗̤̻̦̙̔͋̃̽̿̐͆̇͢͞.̨̢̥͖͔̗̗̓͑͑̊̌͊̿͟͞.̤̮̬̝̖̃̏̓̿̿.̤̇*̡̛̠͓͔͚̙̑͒̅͊̚~̬̘́̆.̝̠̩̣̣̽͋͐̎̅.̰̂.̲͚͔̄͞}̡̩͍̐͒͒͡ͅ{̣̞͠͠"͖̹͕͛̑͆?>͕͕͐́<̨̡̮͆̓.̧̝̲͆͋͛.͈̭̗̌̄̓̿ͅ*̝̊~̣̻̤̭̽̄̔͆̕͢..̟̬́̋͜͡..̱́̚ͅḥ̭̯̫̩̫̰̍̑̐̿̅̚ë̡̢̟̝̼́͊̂͛̒̓͟͢͝'̛̗̥̲̼̫͔̣͍͔̐͛̆̀͗̿̕̚͡ͅs̢̖̩̬͙̱̀̊͘͠͝͝ ̤̭̣͖̜̫̔̌͗͗͊̋̾͟j̡̤̱͉̻͉̥̾̄̾̌̎̒͟͝ü̮̥̞̖͎̼͌̿͗̑͛̑͜ͅș̛̪͕̠̭͇͇̈́̓̏̈̄̏͟t̼̮̼͎̗̬̬̤͎̲̻̒̓̋́͌͌͗̽̊̚͝ ͈͓̤͎̖̪͔̇̉̄̓̂̇͒̕͜͜ą̭̯̥̲̻̺̪̺̀̍͛̅̄̌̔̚͞ͅ ̛͈̪͖̠͔̻͐̄̂̈̚͞ͅķ̟̲̞̽͑͊͆͟͠ḯ̛̛͖̦̜̣͍̲̞͗̏̎̚ḍ͈̠͓̲̬̅̊̉͊͑͊̏͜~̩͚͕͛̓̑̓͢ ̫̼̰͖̂̆͊͝ͅ.̧̫͖̣͋̂̚͠.̧͔̄̄̾͜ ̬͉͛.̠̒=̪̱̞̔̉͋..-̭͚̅..̧͕̹̌̅͆=̨̠̳̘̩̄͑͛̇͂-̩̥̣̅̈́̀̒͜.͔̤̅ͅ,͈͗.̧̙͉̝̩̏͐̅̈̔,̭̑{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒.

̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́

-̝͗..̺̋.̮̤̉͆"͉͖̇̃[ ͕̔.̥͕̼͖͛͊̀͆.̱̎̍͑̾͢͢͢}͓̩̹̅̕͠ **t̢̫̦̻̣̏͑̔̎͒** ḩ̼̅̎i̢̠̭͆͂̓͜͡s̮͉͋̇͜{͇͉̣̪́̊͒̚̕͢"̙̞̄̏̈́.̭̅ **i̝̿̂** s̢̡̮̜̘͐͋͛͘n̥̋'̠͇̌̈t̫̝̟̓̿͘.̧̳̜̼̋̔̍͠]̬͚͕͙͆̇͛̚;̬͑ri̞̪̻͐̽̇͟g̯̟͉̦̏̐̅͞h̠͍̿̃̾͜t̞͙͛͑.̢̲̍̉.͚͂.̰̤̺̝̮͐̔̊́̎.̼̗͙̽͐͘.͚͓̳͙̿̀̌̀.͓̹̟̑̑̌̕ͅ'͓͛̏̅̎͢͢͟"̦̘̈́͠;͓͖̲̓̐.̣͛̏͟.̯̅.͎͙͙̽͗̌͟͞.̖͙̘̫̠̋̑̒̉͠.̺̅'͈̳̖͓̅͌͛̂"̢̮͘͡?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡;̣̭͕̾̓̍͜͞.̫̂̆͢.̧͚͕̹̈̿͝͠ ̛̮̙͑͑͜͜͠.̪̯̄̆ ̳̳͈̱̐̍̓̌.̡̲̜̈̽͡= ̱̰̼͐̄͞.̨̻̋͊̍͟ ͎̭̐͑*̎ͅ.͈̣̩̫̀̅̿̀̏͟ ̨̹͙̟̩̓̆͗̅̚.̥̤̾̈́ ̗̦̑̍..̮͙̿̓̂͢.̤.̰̲́̏*̧͙̈́̅~̬̉̊͟.̳̻̯̠̇̽͛̚.͙͝?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡.͎̖̩̑̽͛.~ ͙̙̌.͙͎̎̉̌͜.͈̭͖̻͂̍̓͘ .=̢̕.̪̃.-͇̺̂̂̌͟͜͞.̥̯̠͗̑̏͘͢.̡̥̱̒̇͝=͙̼͋̍-̖̩̓͞.,̯͗.,̤͛̍͢-͍̉.̖̌.͚̖̉̏.̭͓͒́̉͢.̹̦͚͆̑̋.̜̦̓͞]͕̖̔;̨͕͍̺̺̂̑͗̿̇.̳͍̐͘.̢̻͋͠.̮̓́ͅ.͓̭̅͛.̨̍

.̛̖̮̥̟̣̊̅̿̏'̛̣̘̍";̝̝̳̄̈́̕.̞̟͚̪͐̌͛͊.̛̫̹͆͆͜ ̡͔̝͗́̒.̨̹͉̦̤̐̊́̚͞.̙͙͇̆͐͌̄͟}̰͍͍́͛̋{̧͎̎͆"̛͍͉͌?̺̊>̣͍̒͌ ̡͗.̧̛̣̳͈͍̽̓̋=͙̰̙̳̽̈̇ ̝͕͡͡.͈͒̋͢ ̟̜͉̜͛͗͛*̮͓͑̊.̻͞ ͙̞̜̲͑̏͊͝.̧̠̩̟̆̎̄͑ ̧̼̭̪̑͂̎͢͞͞.͚̉.̯̩̜̍͠͠.̛̰͎͈͆͑.͕.̧̨̻͒̍̒'̺͓̗̙̣͐̉͌͑̕"̯̤̆̀;͕͊̚͢..̹̣̟̫̥̾̄͐̓͞ ͚̹̿͛..͎̖͚̮͗͛́̔.͔͋̎͢*̩͜~̻̦̮̮̇̂̓͠.̘̣͕̝͆̌͋̃̏͟.̨͖̤̩̤͑̑͡͡.̧̢̛͓̘̝͊͛̌́ .̨.̮͘}{̲̬̑̋"͈̞̦̎̓͘͘͜?̨͖͔̉͒̉>̺̏.̯̙͔̩̻͐͑̀̀̀ ̢̩͛͞.̲̹̃̚.͔̻̇̚}̮̠̯̘̓̿̍̕?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡

 _ **ḫ̢̢̮̰̪͕̰̙̞̓̊̍̏̾͐̋̃̏͘͢͢͡͡ȇ͈̤̠̠̦̟̣̣̻̣̭̞̫̪̬̳̇̍̾̊̈͑̿̾̔͛̿͊̊͘͞'̛͍̤̘͚̯̋͑̂̕͘ͅs̘̯̭̻̥̥̳̜̟͖̦̅̎̔͌͒̑̅̅̓̽͡ͅ ͕̰̥̬͈͇͓̤̬̦̆͂̌̒͛̊͗͒͒̚̚͟j̨̫͉̠̺̖̙͙͉͔̲͑̽͂̑̾̑̉͐̓̓̕͜ų̛̱͉̪̺̖̝͔̯̦͙̅̆̓̌̊̅̅̉̂̚͢s̨̡̬̬̖͖͙͚̾̍̈́̏͂̂͘̚͟͞ţ̢̥̪̩̠͓̬̰̐͊̈̊̄͛̏̀̃ ͎̻͈͓̦̞̠̪̗̥̈̒̂̈́̔͋̌͘̚͠a͙̠̠͍̦̭̦͂̌͛͑͗̇͝͠ͅ ̨̡̥̭̝̹̟̺̈́͗͛͂̆͗̅̓ͅk͇͔͙̞̲̣̎̎͆̄͠í̡̧̛̩̹͇͍̹̣̯͆̾̒̄̃̕̕͞ͅḑ̤̩̮͓̤̣̹̪̙̦͈̓̎̒̃̈̓̃̇͗̂̚͟͟͡͡*̱̺̈͂.̧̰̍̄͢ ̧̪̞̯̝̤͐̓̂͒̋̍.̬̮̂͗ .͉̦͊͆̒ͅ.̧͇͔̩̭̑͌̃̎.̙̪͈̼̳̭̬͕͔̈͌͒̄̈́͐͂̎̊̕͢.͇͔͖̯̺̮͆̍͛̒͝*͓͇̫̗̅̐̚͠~̛̥̗̬̓̽.̛͖͓͎͔̻̤̹̪̑͛͑̔̀͒͘͢.̠̱̬̜͕̻̭̓͂͗͑́̃͘ͅ.̧̰̣͇̩̩̳̟̯̪̯̈̑͌̆̎͛̿̔̃͊͞.̞̘̩͋͊͞~̡͠ ͉̫̮̖̹̼͓̇̄̽͗͋̒.̢̢͔̪̟̙͇͔̪͉͎̖͂͒̄̒̐͊̿̍̔̋.̤͉̠͓͊́͗̇̊̆͟͜ ̹̣̍̎.̡̲̌͠=.̛̛̮̥̻̦̺̔̌̓̚͜.̛̛̩͖͚͖͉̣̝͉̤̮̰̹̒̉̍͒̎͋̄̿͘-̢̬͓̜̬͓̲͖̄̂͋͊̏̊͊͝.̞̙̗̘̭͖̖̒͊̽͐͊̕͡.̜̪̮̜̅͒̏=̢̩͎̖̻̦̆̊͂-̨̨̭̟̖͎͔̪̗̣̄̐̐̾͛̿̎̕͠͞.̳̗̦̭͙̪̺̀̓͊̀̅͘͠,̙̬̣̮̙̓́̃̄̾̚͟.̜̰͖̞͍̠̥̥͎͐̔̾̌̆̂̔͘͝,̙͇͚̬̳̱̫̃͋̈͐̿̋͡-̨̡̩̖̯̗̥͊̒̾͑̓͌͑͟͡.̨̧̥̝̥͇͚̿̅̓͋̊͗̕͜͞.̥͍͆̈.̮̼̟͒̃̾̚ͅ"̢͇͚̭̝͔̱̦̄̉̓̾̋͠[͕̂]̘͐.̢̢̪͎͔̮̱͔͔̘̱͛̎̄͂̽̽͡͝͞͝.̪̖̘̂̓]̧̬̪̮͎̖̣̏̉̾͑͂͂̓;̦̩̠̝̣̘̅͊͒̈́͡.͉̑.̛̤̥̟̟̳̯̦̓͊̒̊̀̚.̡̻̮̥͓̭͖͙̍͛́̆̈́̕͘̕͢.̬̫̖̼̳̥̈͒̅͝͝͡.̯͇͎̬̏̎̑͝.̡̦̑͠'̡̿"̧̙̖̮̲̣͆̾̑̉͗͞î̗̟̯͙̪͎̰͖͛̒̌͋̚̚͝ ̢̡̛̛̦͍͚̯͓͍͇̣̝͒͛͒̿̔͛̉̈̍͘͟͢c̡̩͙͇̜̖̱̯͔̞̦̃͊͌͛̑̑͌̆̔͋̕̕͟ͅan͙͎̿͐́͢'̡̬̬̟͓̉̌̐̌̇͞ͅt̢̢̧̨̩̣̥̒̒͒̌̑͝ ̼͚̱̃͋̌͟d̢̛̩̖͉̲͙̠͚̪͔͑̅̑̉̈̃̉̔̚ͅo̹̠͂͂ ̺̖̞͎͓͓̠̺̎̉̇̓͐̉̈̑͟͠t̰͉̂͆h̨̧͕̱͖͇̬̳̙̒̎́̋̿̿̅͜͞͝i̢̛͈̪̗͎̤̠̘̲̬̰͛̓͋̓̂̂̓̂̇̽̽͟s̡̡̻͙͕͎̭̲̖͙̊̓̾͐̿͂̒͂̊̽͜͡ ̢̐t̤̩̫̼̘̣̫̳͚̏͌̂͂͗̄̋̔̕ͅõ͙̱̝̙̠͒͛̑͊̒͜ ̛̞̥̣͇̔̔͑ť̨̘̩̠̟̦͙̯͌͑̅͛̈́͋h̰̤̹͐͑͑͠ͅę̙̯̟̭̖̬̜́̀̊͗̓̓͗͘m̛̗̼͖̥͍̳͚͎͙̫̑̾͊̿͐̈̃͠;̰̣̀̎.̧̭̓͒.͍̲͎̌͐̚͢͠ ̢̇͌ͅ.̢̫̱̼̲͓͋̈́͗̐͋̒͢=̟̻̘̜̰͙͎͌͗̓͊̓͊ ̤͔̞͛͗̃.̯̠̘̠͈̮̹͖̟̪̝͗͛͒͋͒̉̔̋͂̌͋͟͢͜͝͞͞ ͔͈̞̙͓̘͉͚̊̋͂̂͆̉͛͌͘͢*̲̭͙̥̀͐͠͠.̗̤̜̗̈̓̌̽ ̦̣̪̳̖͍̠̱̀͛͌͐̓̈́͘͢͠͡.̡̯̙̫̤̊̃̇̈́͝ ̟͓̜͌͂̆̊͟.͇̥̲̘̝͍͎̿͗̿̔̂̚͠.̛͈̠̩̩̼̭̙̠̈́̃͐̑̾͗̏̅͢.̛̮̜̤̓͛.̧͇͚̩̠͚͇̩͍͙͚͖̈́̄̉͂͑̐̾̊̀͝͞*̫̙̿͛̎͢~̦̱̜͉̪̟͖͇̳̰̋̈̊̿̑̈͗̿͌̚͠ͅ.̛̰̯̯͓̬̣̹̘̓͑̒̊̽̉̊͡ͅ.͙̬̳͎͖̮̙̈́̈́̎͆̽̈̈̎͢͟.̢̨̼͚͖͍͍̳͗͐́͋̒͊͞͠͡ͅ.̧͉̘͕̭̤̪͇̞͑̇̅͒̀̒̑̂͠~̺̟̙͙̺̭̺̜̅͆̂̄̾̕͞͝ͅ ͈̻͓̺̞͔̗̞͌̔̓͒͆̀͂͡ͅ.̺͙̝͙̞͖̹͚̖̄̂̂̅̐͘͡͞.̡͔̬͕͚͊͋̾̅͠ ̖͖̳̈́͆͡**_.̘̺̞͚͇̱̃́̽̌̂̊=̨͎̬̥̪̹͚͈͛̂͊́̃̾͊͠.̧̧̡̗͈̲̭̝͎̘̋͋̎͑̇̂̍͆͑͘.̛̫̩̗͙̪̥̖̲͓̘̂̋̒͛̎̈́́͗͜͠-̢͙̌̚.̥̗̦̣̄́͑̄͜͝.̢̨̭̤̮͇͕̖̝̿̎̽́͋͊͋͡=̨̻̜̬̗̊̽̂̓̇̆ͅ-̬̯̌̔.̼̼͈̿̇̕,.̯̣̟̝̪̘̀̅̈́͆̚͞,̨̮̭̩̩̠͂̌̏̌̈́͘̕͢-̲͇̻̙̤͓̰̘͊̂̇̇̀͒̚͞.̰͙̘̝̆̏̐.͈̹̰̻̮̙͋̒͑͐͌̑͢.̦͝"[̧̧̹͉̤͇̇̋͂̽͌͟]̗̺̖̩̻̘̠̏̐̔̅̓̒͘.̣̥̭͊̊͞.̼̰̚͞]̧̲͚͕̤̗̪̦͆͌̈́̈́̈͘͞;̧̤̘͈̪̮̹̂̿̐̀̌̊̌̚͢.̧̢͈̼͖̺̦͉̫̩͗̈́̍̄̾̃͒̊̚.̧̜̳̗̮͙̞̆͑̓̐̓͋͡.̛͈̩̲̫̝͇͍͓̌̓͛̐̎̂̒̄͟ͅ.̞̫̻̗̤͈̰̝̆͒̃̾̊͐͠.̨̜̙̦̙̒̐͌͛̂̚͟͟͝.̧̛̛̤̘̣̪͕̟̪̰́͛̈́̇͗͗̚͘͢'̬̩̼̑̋̊"̖͔̮̪̅̆̿̕;̧̡̞̼̬͕̖̓̇͛͋̍͗̉͛͜.̜̪͙̭̇̾́̚.͕͕̜͖̻̜͖̃̅̉́̑̄̈̋͢͢ ̱̒.̡̜͆̕=̮̖̲͑̃͠ .̗̥̝͈̼̭͂͗͛̊̆̊ ̲̰̤̘̞̺̃̓̍͑͆̾̅͞ͅͅ*̜̤̪̪̯̻͖̤̹͖̃̉̍̈́͆́̈̾̽͐͜͞.̢̳̭̣̖̌͒͘ **I** -̧͕̮̩̜̯̈́͆́̋̇͡.̨̬̪̹̮̜̏́̋͂̾͝,̡̜̩͎̮̑͋͑͒̈.̺̳̣̺̙̜̩͚͉̝̂̑͒͋͑͊̍̋͠,̡̧̱͚̺͎͍̙̀̏͑̌̕̕-̳̲̯͓͚̪̦͔̜͓̿̽̎̈̌͌̍̋͗̀͘͟.̺.̖͙̚͘.̨̢͎̣̰͔̼͙͎̪̓̄̾͂̆͒̓͌͛̓̓̍͜͢"͔̎.̱̋.͈̖̘̺͉͍̭̌̿͒̽͋͘͠]̧̩̎͠;̥̙̘̤͉̳̼͑̏͋̽̓͆̊͒͢͡ͅ.̡̰̮̦̙̦̳̣̐͐̒͂̈͌̅̏.̭̮̳͈̉̽̾̃.̨̟̙̖͉͈̏̈́̈́͛̎͢͠.̜͙͊͛͑͢.͖̈́͜͠.̧̡̮̘͎̗͙̭̯̭̱̄̄̽̋͋͊͆̒̂̍̕'͑͢"̜͇͚͎̪͌͐̐̕̚;̙̏.͉̐.̛̭͕͖̦͚̤̺̐̆͆̑̀͘̚ͅ ͇̲̘̼͊̊̓̄͘͟.̮͇̞̹̙̯̦̈́̏̉̎͆̽̄=̮̯̫̙̟̔͑̉̆̓̚͜ ͎̮͍̝̘̲̊̃̿̔̋̔͟͞.̧̛̪̗͓̼͔̮͎͉̰͎͆̏͂̊̊̽̔̈́̕͡͠ͅ ̭͈̞̳̟̳̘̮̋͊̍͑͗͐̌͞*͙̫̃̽͟͞.̪̈́?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡ ̌͟.̢̧̡̖̱͕͉̠̞͑̌̉̿͒̎̉̾͛ ̛̥͖͔̗̫̖͚̺̦̒̏̀̽̐͊͠.͓̠͚̤͍̦̮̙͂͋͊̽͑̿̐͛͌͢͢͝.̢̬͙͉̗̗̗̄͑̊͊͛̿̒͟͠.̧̨͓̬̝́̏̓̓͌.̠̥̤̠̌̇̚͘*̡̛̞͔̙͇̑̅͆̂~̫͇̬̂́̚.̨̠͉̩̣͋͐̎̌͠{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝

.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́-ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́..~̝̼̳̃̏̉ ͓̈.̘͙̙̇͛̉.͔̙̐͝ ̡͓͈̩̊̂͆͋̈́͜.̩̄=̧͖͋͐͢͡.͙͓̘͇͔̊̓͐̒͞.͈͗-̢̭͛.̩͎͙̌̎̽͘͜.̼̺̎̀=͎̂-̯͇̓̔?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡.̡̋,̦͇͖̇͐͘.̳͋͡ͅ,̢̝̑̕-̡̬̳̅̊̾.̳̺̦̣̃̓̎̕.̡̳̗̄̓͛͢͠.̼̬̈̕͜"̞̥̄͂̈́ͅ[͇͘]̦̘͊̒.̖̭̺̝̄̆̉̐.͈̽͝ͅ]̩̑;̝̦̏̾.̠͂.̙̞̫͆̑͋̈́ͅ.̰͉͖͗̒̿ **h̘̜̖͋̍͌.̯̰̭̈́̔͌e̗͡**.͎̤̳̊̍͝.̲̭̲̾̏͝'̤͙̈̌ï͍̱̫͊̋s̞̹̼͈̅͗͐͋̅ͅ ̫̋j̧̛͚̙̰͌̾̕û̧͍̤̅͞ṡ͙̹̜̆́͟͠"̬͖̰͂̔͡;͓̬̩͕͆́̑͞t̫̪̙̓́̈.̻͋.̞̫͋͝a͎͉̅̉̕͢ ͔̫̍̎ **k͕͕̃͋͜͠ͅi̘͔̲̪̔̀̿̍d͈͆** >̗͖̄͛̔͢<̘̣̾̈́?̰̋̌͟"͓͠/̞̪̖̩̉̒͑̚;͔̖̼͚͐̐͂̍'̲̿/̤̓.̘̲͉͋̾͒,̝̦͊̑..;̘̮̘͔̓̂͌̎>̻͚͚͈̓͊͋̏<̜̟̰͊͋̂͢<̼̉.̜̃~͙̆`̨̼̔̎̽ͅ~̖̙̼̿̚͝î̗̟̯͙̪͎̰͖͛̒̌͋̚̚͝ ̢̡̛̛̦͍͚̯͓͍͇̣̝͒͛͒̿̔͛̉̈̍͘͟͢c̡̩͙͇̜̖̱̯͔̞̦̃͊͌͛̑̑͌̆̔͋̕̕͟ͅan͙͎̿͐́͢'̡̬̬̟͓̉̌̐̌̇͞ͅt̢̢̧̨̩̣̥̒̒͒̌̑͝ ̼͚̱̃͋̌͟d̢̛̩̖͉̲͙̠͚̪͔͑̅̑̉̈̃̉̔̚ͅo̹̠͂͂ ̺̖̞͎͓͓̠̺̎̉̇̓͐̉̈̑͟͠t̰͉̂͆h̨̧͕̱͖͇̬̳̙̒̎́̋̿̿̅͜͞͝i̢̛͈̪̗͎̤̠̘̲̬̰͛̓͋̓̂̂̓̂̇̽̽͟s̡̡̻͙͕͎̭̲̖͙̊̓̾͐̿͂̒͂̊̽͜͡ ̢̐t̤̩̫̼̘̣̫̳͚̏͌̂͂͗̄̋̔̕ͅõ͙̱̝̙̠͒͛̑͊̒͜ ̛̞̥̣͇̔̔͑ť̨̘̩̠̟̦͙̯͌͑̅͛̈́͋h̰̤̹͐͑͑͠ͅę̙̯̟̭̖̬̜́̀̊͗̓̓͗͘m̛̗̼͖̥͍̳͚͎͙̫̑̾͊̿͐̈̃͠`̹̍``̨̛͎͒=-̪̩͖̪̄̈͊̚̕ͅ+͚̦̭̅̍͝_͓͉̘͕̆͌̕̕]̨̹̹̫̯̑́͑̆͘\͍͈̻͐̓;͚̾'̼͞ ̲̰̙͕͉͛̄͌̕͝.̡̠͒̆=̞̮̳̒̈̃͢͡ ͚̜̏̄͘͢.̫͎̳͒́͌ ̜̀*̢͔͓͗̚͘.͙͑ ̉͟.͉̘̒͆͑ͅ ̡̲͈̪̘̀̅̒.̥̗̜̑̈́̏.̣̅..͊͟*̛̦͈̦͚̻̔͐͗̽~͙͠.̨̜̼̭̺̅̃͛̾͛.̢̧̓͌͘͟..̼̘͓͚̝̊̀̆̕̕~̧̛̼̺̺͇̄͐͗̂ ̨̤͈̻͖̾̌͆̊̎.̦́.̧͈̙̑̏͡ͅ ̧̜͚̝̓̓̏̌

{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘ḥ̭̯̫̩̫̰̍̑̐̿̅̚ë̡̢̟̝̼́͊̂͛̒̓͟͢͝'̛̗̥̲̼̫͔̣͍͔̐͛̆̀͗̿̕̚͡ͅs̢̖̩̬͙̱̀̊͘͠͝͝ ̤̭̣͖̜̫̔̌͗͗͊̋̾͟j̡̤̱͉̻͉̥̾̄̾̌̎̒͟͝ü̮̥̞̖͎̼͌̿͗̑͛̑͜ͅș̛̪͕̠̭͇͇̈́̓̏̈̄̏͟t̼̮̼͎̗̬̬̤͎̲̻̒̓̋́͌͌͗̽̊̚͝ ͈͓̤͎̖̪͔̇̉̄̓̂̇͒̕͜͜ą̭̯̥̲̻̺̪̺̀̍͛̅̄̌̔̚͞ͅ ̛͈̪͖̠͔̻͐̄̂̈̚͞ͅķ̟̲̞̽͑͊͆͟͠ḯ̛̛͖̦̜̣͍̲̞͗̏̎̚ḍ͈̠͓̲̬̅̊̉͊͑͊̏͜.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡

*̱̺̈͂.̧̰̍̄͢ ̧̪̞̯̝̤͐̓̂͒̋̍.̬̮̂͗ .͉̦͊͆̒ͅ.̧͇͔̩̭̑͌̃̎.̙̪͈̼̳̭̬͕͔̈͌͒̄̈́͐͂̎̊̕͢.͇͔͖̯̺̮͆̍͛̒͝*͓͇̫̗̅̐̚͠~̛̥̗̬̓̽.̛͖͓͎͔̻̤̹̪̑͛͑̔̀͒͘͢.̠̱̬̜͕̻̭̓͂͗͑́̃͘ͅ.̧̰̣͇̩̩̳̟̯̪̯̈̑͌̆̎͛̿̔̃͊͞.̞̘̩͋͊͞~̡͠ ͉̫̮̖̹̼͓̇̄̽͗͋̒.̢̢͔̪̟̙͇͔̪͉͎̖͂͒̄̒̐͊̿̍̔̋.̤͉̠͓͊́͗̇̊̆͟͜ ̹̣̍̎.̡̲̌͠=.̛̛̮̥̻̦̺̔̌̓̚͜.̛̛̩͖͚͖͉̣̝͉̤̮̰̹̒̉̍͒̎͋̄̿͘-̢̬͓̜̬͓̲͖̄̂͋͊̏̊͊͝.̞̙̗̘̭͖̖̒͊̽͐͊̕͡.̜̪̮̜̅͒̏=̢̩͎̖̻̦̆̊͂-̨̨̭̟̖͎͔̪̗̣̄̐̐̾͛̿̎̕͠͞.̳̗̦̭͙̪̺̀̓͊̀̅͘͠,̙̬̣̮̙̓́̃̄̾̚͟.̜̰͖̞͍̠̥̥͎͐̔̾̌̆̂̔͘͝,̙͇͚̬̳̱̫̃͋̈͐̿̋͡-̨̡̩̖̯̗̥͊̒̾͑̓͌͑͟͡.̨̧̥̝̥͇͚̿̅̓͋̊͗̕͜͞.̥͍͆̈ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t.̮̼̟͒̃̾̚ͅ"̢͇͚̭̝͔̱̦̄̉̓̾̋͠[͕̂]̘͐.̢̢̪͎͔̮̱͔͔̘̱͛̎̄͂̽̽͡͝͞͝.̪̖̘̂̓]̧̬̪̮͎̖̣̏̉̾͑͂͂̓;̦̩̠̝̣̘̅͊͒̈́͡.͉̑.̛̤̥̟̟̳̯̦̓͊̒̊̀̚.̡̻̮̥͓̭͖͙̍͛́̆̈́̕͘̕͢.̬̫̖̼̳̥̈͒̅͝͝͡.̯͇͎̬̏̎̑͝.̡̦̑͠'̡̿"̧̙̖̮̲̣͆̾̑̉͗͞;̰̣̀̎.̧̭̓͒.͍̲͎̌͐̚͢͠ ̢̇͌ͅ.̢̫̱̼̲͓͋̈́͗̐͋̒͢=̟̻̘̜̰͙͎͌͗̓͊̓͊ ̤͔̞͛͗̃.̯̠̘̠͈̮̹͖̟̪̝͗͛͒͋͒̉̔̋͂̌͋͟͢͜͝͞͞ ͔͈̞̙͓̘͉͚̊̋͂̂͆̉͛͌͘͢*̲̭͙̥̀͐͠͠.̗̤̜̗̈̓̌̽ ̦̣̪̳̖͍̠̱̀͛͌͐̓̈́͘͢͠͡.̡̯̙̫̤̊̃̇̈́͝ _̟͓̜͌͂̆̊͟.͇̥̲̘̝͍͎̿͗̿̔̂̚͠.̛͈̠̩̩̼̭̙̠̈́̃͐̑̾͗̏̅͢.̛̮̜̤̓͛.̧͇͚̩̠͚͇̩͍͙͚͖̈́̄̉͂͑̐̾̊̀͝͞*̫̙̿͛̎͢~̦̱̜͉̪̟͖͇̳̰̋̈̊̿̑̈͗̿͌̚͠ͅ.̛̰̯̯͓̬̣̹̘̓͑̒̊̽̉̊͡ͅ.͙̬̳͎͖̮̙̈́̈́̎͆̽̈̈̎͢͟.̢̨̼͚͖͍͍̳͗͐́͋̒͊͞͠͡ͅ.̧͉̘͕̭̤̪͇̞͑̇̅͒̀̒̑̂͠~̺̟̙͙̺̭̺̜̅͆̂̄̾̕͞͝ͅ ͈̻͓̺̞͔̗̞͌̔̓͒͆̀͂͡ͅ.̺͙̝͙̞͖̹͚̖̄̂̂̅̐͘͡͞.̡͔̬͕͚͊͋̾̅͠ ̖͖̳̈́͆͡.̘̺̞͚͇̱̃́̽̌̂̊=̨͎̬̥̪̹͚͈͛̂͊́̃̾͊͠.̧̧̡̗͈̲̭̝͎̘̋͋̎͑̇̂̍͆͑͘.̛̫̩̗͙̪̥̖̲͓̘̂̋̒͛̎̈́́͗͜͠-̢͙̌̚.̥̗̦̣̄́͑̄͜͝.̢̨̭̤̮͇͕̖̝̿̎̽́͋͊͋͡=̨̻̜̬̗̊̽̂̓̇̆ͅ-̬̯̌̔.̼̼͈̿̇̕,.̯̣̟̝̪̘̀̅̈́͆̚͞,̨̮̭̩̩̠͂̌̏̌̈́͘̕͢-̲͇̻̙̤͓̰̘͊̂̇̇̀͒̚͞.̰͙̘̝̆̏̐.͈̹̰̻̮̙͋̒͑͐͌̑͢.̦͝"[̧̧̹͉̤͇̇̋͂̽͌͟]̗̺̖̩̻̘̠̏̐̔̅̓̒͘.̣̥̭͊̊͞.̼̰̚͞]̧̲͚͕̤̗̪̦͆͌̈́̈́̈͘͞;̧̤̘͈̪̮̹̂̿̐̀̌̊̌̚͢.̧̢͈̼͖̺̦͉̫̩͗̈́̍̄̾̃͒̊̚.̧̜̳̗̮͙̞̆͑̓̐̓͋͡.̛͈̩̲̫̝͇͍͓̌̓͛̐̎̂̒̄͟ͅ.̞̫̻̗̤͈̰̝̆͒̃̾̊͐͠.̨̜̙̦̙̒̐͌͛̂̚͟͟͝.̧̛̛̤̘̣̪͕̟̪̰́͛̈́̇͗͗̚͘͢'̬̩̼̑̋̊"̖͔̮̪̅̆̿̕;̧̡̞̼̬͕̖̓̇͛͋̍͗̉͛͜.̜̪͙̭̇̾́̚.͕͕̜͖̻̜͖̃̅̉́̑̄̈̋͢͢ ̱̒.̡̜͆̕=̮̖̲͑̃͠ .̗̥̝͈̼̭͂͗͛̊̆̊ ̲̰̤̘̞̺̃̓̍͑͆̾̅͞ͅͅ*̜̤̪̪̯̻͖̤̹͖̃̉̍̈́͆́̈̾̽͐͜͞.̢̳̭̣̖̌͒͘ ̣̲̪̘͔̺͚͇̓͒̋̆̌̀̾̕.̨̢̛̻͚͉͌̄̆ ̡͕̟͖̞͈̿͑̄͝͞.̧̧̛̯͚̲̬̗͉̭̈́̏̅̅͌̇̊͒͠ͅ.̝̮̘̣͇̻̜̽̊̑̓͐̚͢͞ͅ.̨̯̱̠̙̪̝̉͗̿͐̎̕͠.̨̛̘̰̜̪̻͈͖͉̗̊͗̀̅̓͒̔͘͠*̻̌~̱̝̄͞.̮̭̙̍̈̚.̡̝̩͓̗͚̙̮̣̱̘̥͛̈̆̈́̾̉̀̅̋̂̚͜͝.̭̟͒̐.̧̭͈̬̩̩̮̞͗̓̒̌́͂͆͑̈̅͟͟~̧̘̗͔̟̀̉̏̀̋͡ͅ ͙̻͎͐̃͘.̭̩̦̺͇͙̘̥̤̅̓̾͋͆̈̎͘̕͝ͅ.̢̪̄͡ ̱̻̄̎͒͜.̨͎͔̞͙͙̣͋̈̏͑͘͡͠ͅ=̫͡.̧̢̻̩̫͍̈̈́̂͘̕͜͞.̯̻͉̾͋̎-͙̯̤̤̠͖̙̤̤͓̹̬̳̄̓͌̌́̋̇̔͂͋̽͘̕.͔̃.̢̛̠̲͔̲̬̇̍̋͑̆=̗͌-̧͕̮̩̜̯̈́͆́̋̇͡.̨̬̪̹̮̜̏́̋͂̾͝,̡̜̩͎̮̑͋͑͒̈.̺̳̣̺̙̜̩͚͉̝̂̑͒͋͑͊̍̋͠,̡̧̱͚̺͎͍̙̀̏͑̌̕̕-̳̲̯͓͚̪̦͔̜͓̿̽̎̈̌͌̍̋͗̀͘͟.̺.̖͙̚͘.̨̢͎̣̰͔̼͙͎̪̓̄̾͂̆͒̓͌͛̓̓̍͜͢"͔̎.̱̋.͈̖̘̺͉͍̭̌̿͒̽͋͘͠]̧̩̎͠;̥̙̘̤͉̳̼͑̏͋̽̓͆̊͒͢͡ͅ.̡̰̮̦̙̦̳̣̐͐̒͂̈͌̅̏.̭̮̳͈̉̽̾̃.̨̟̙̖͉͈̏̈́̈́͛̎͢͠.̜͙͊͛͑͢.͖̈́͜͠.̧̡̮̘͎̗͙̭̯̭̱̄̄̽̋͋͊͆̒̂̍̕'͑͢"̜͇͚͎̪͌͐̐̕̚;̙̏.͉̐.̛̭͕͖̦͚̤̺̐̆͆̑̀͘̚ͅ ͇̲̘̼͊̊̓̄͘͟.̮͇̞̹̙̯̦̈́̏̉̎͆̽̄=̮̯̫̙̟̔͑̉̆̓̚͜ ͎̮͍̝̘̲̊̃̿̔̋̔͟͞.̧̛̪̗͓̼͔̮͎͉̰͎͆̏͂̊̊̽̔̈́̕͡͠ͅ ̭͈̞̳̟̳̘̮̋͊̍͑͗͐̌͞*͙̫̃̽͟͞.̪̈́ ̌͟.̢̧̡̖̱͕͉̠̞͑̌̉̿͒̎̉̾͛ ̛̥͖͔̗̫̖͚̺̦̒̏̀̽̐͊͠.͓̠͚̤͍̦̮̙͂͋͊̽͑̿̐͛͌͢͢͝.̢̬͙͉̗̗̗̄͑̊͊͛̿̒͟͠.̧̨͓̬̝́̏̓̓͌.̠̥̤̠̌̇̚͘*̡̛̞͔̙͇̑̅͆̂~̫͇̬̂́̚.̨̠͉̩̣̘̜͋͐̎̌̇̕͠.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́.̭͂=̰̱̏̔.͓̹͚͐̔̋͘͟.̡̪͗̎̅͜ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t-̫͔̙̹̀̿͑̚.̮͚͕͂̄̾.=͈͝-̡̀.̝̝̾̓,̡̜͈̥̋̽̀̉.̡̛̬͔̳̝̽͂̄̓,̘͓͒̕-̢͈͂͆..̣̤̗̓̑.̞͉̜̈̍͗"̘̯̂̊.͍͎͖̌̓̽͒ͅ.̭̦͖̐́͂];̣̍.͕̹͔̝̃͗̏̕.͇̞̭̈́̀͛.̨̮͛̕.͈̑̀͜.͖̟̽̌̚͢.̻̃'̠̓"̥̋;͚͔̞̋̉͘͘ͅ.̫̮̭̯̽̒͗̓.̯͇̼̑̉̎͢ ̫̝͆̓.̩͖̈́=͚̃ ̯̅.̧̺̆͝ ͚͓̒͡*̹͗.̼̠̫͊͌́ ͓͍̘̪̔̓͞.͎͉̗̔̏̎̾͜ ̢̍.̢̪̥̩͑͂̎͠.̦̹͍̭̂̒̇͗͂͜.͇̞͗̆.*̘̙̇͆͌͟͟͞~̥̪̤̍̽͜.̞͎͡͡.̰̌͜.̳̇.̣̔̚ͅ~͍͉͐̓͢͠ .̫.̭͔͕̮̆́͋̎͢͠ ̪̖͖͖̓͆̍̓.͖̰̰͍̀͆̔̎̾͢?̫͖̯̐͘ >̛̟̯̱̗͉̤͈̳̯͈̝͓̣́͂̾̌̇̄̊͐̂͗͡͞ͅ;̛͕̲̜̥̲̥̯̰̜͖̟͑̉̏̓̇̾̄̇̄̚͟͢"̼̼̝̦̟̣̹̹̫͇͔̝̣̇͊͆̊̑̀͆̾͒̿͌̑͘̕͜>̩̘̬͕̬̥̂̋̏͋̈̚"̛̭̺̟͓̳̙͔̬̠̞̟͈̞̉̔͆̑̇͐̀̑̓̕̚͟͠͡ͅ{̧̧̟͉͈͍̠̪̘͖̾͑̓̍̈͗́͛͢͠{̫͎̰̭̥̝̠͓̃̉̾͆̊͑̏͡:̡̜̦̯͎̗͇̻̦͕̬̖͇̞̹̠̓͌̿̀͗̂́̎̆̓͂̽̒͟͠͝͞[͇̱͐͗{̡͍̜̗̖͖̳͇͓̦͉̠̖̖͚̮̙̹͓̻̌͗̓̅̊͂̍̍̿̌̈́̌͆͌̔̿̚͘̚̕͜͢͠͝͞ͅ=̨̧̻̻̳̺̳̻̼͕̣̳̰̽̀̋̌͆͛̅̐̍̌̿̕̚͜͡--̢̹̦͉̻̫̙̥͖͖̣̜̟̠̹̾̽̊̑̋̊̄̇͛͂̆͒͘͜͡_̢̬̰̯̞̳̰̘̘̘͉̻̐̓̅̐̎͒̄͆̕̚͘͞_̢͚̠͈̙̞̍̇̃̋̐̄̃ͅ>̯̘̝̘̝̖̣̼̣̩̫̆̈͂͊̀̓͛͋̈͠͞+̨̡̦̩͚̮̞̙̣̒̔̀̋̓͋̉̓͡_͚̦͍̈́~̢̡̢̛͎̪̙̼͔͙͇͎̣̤̠̹̮͇̟̻̠̳̰̄̈́̌͊͛͒̈̎̓̔͛̓͋͊̿̉͐͐̃̈̄̐̿͢ͅ`̨̛̳̞̜̪̺̠̯̫͈̏̋͂͒̐̀͊͞͞`̨̰̗̭̺̼̮̜̟̣̘̤̲̭̟̹̽̋̐̄̐͂̉͌̈̔̂̅̂̽̒̀̚͜ͅ`̡̘̰̥̭͔͔͔̖̪̪̫̦͕̟̣̣̝̯͖̲̜͈̞́̈́̌̊̄͒̅͒̈͒̿̉̿͗̋̽̔̎͆͒͗̚̚͠~'̢̨̛͕͙̝̱̹̼̟̩̬̬͚̱̲̣̭͙́͗̋̂͐̈͋̊͗͛̄͒̏̋̚͞͡.̡̡̡̧̨̰̝̜̦̮͔͍̘͕̩̣̱̭͚̳͌̓̽̄̽̓̽͂̍̔͛̒̉͒̏́͂̕͘͟͝͠.̢̫̦̪͒̿̋̌͜͝,͚͓̞͕͍͎͍̜̠̲̣̭͙͙̝͚͗̐͊̄́̔̍̓́͆̿̏͆͘͘͜͢͠͞͝/̛̛͈͔̲͕̞̫̘̙̳̼͗̇̂̊͛̒͗̓.̢̧̧̼̝͓̭̬͔̤̯͇̻͚͒̾͑͌̔̋͊̑̎̉͘͜͢͡͠,͖͊.̻̦̍̓'̧̧͕̞̱̠̯̣̼̟̦͕̱͕͑̔̅̊̐͆̓̿͆̉̋͋̕͘͟͜͢͡͠͡͝͞ͅͅ;̨̡̨̢̙̥̟̦̪̮̞͍͇͎̥̘̳̮̍̏̉̃̓̾̈́͊̓̌́͗̈̓̒̓͘̕͠ͅ[̨̼̳̰͔͇̗̱̍͊̿͋̓͊͌̔̾̆̾͜͢ͅ]̧̧̪͔̫̬̱̞̹̦̝̥̲̤̞̻̪͖͈̝̄̐̿̒͐͌̊̆̾͋͗͐͛͌͊͗̌̓̋͟͟͢͠͞͡.̢̡̛̜͉̞̙̭̯͔̱͙̺̰͈̳̻̤̰̞̀̆̏̔̓̾͒̊̈́̄̅̄̐̆̀̑̅͘͜͝͝ͅ~̧̗̠̰͉͍̦̯̜̼͈̬̭̞͚̺̫͇̝̳̟̎̊̓̿͋͂̾͑̏̂̇͛̾̎͒͑͒͟͢͡͠͝͠͡~̨̛̠̱̜̟͎͚̣̋͛͛͑̈́̍͗~̟̘̭̰̖͙̳̰̰͇̬̻̱̠͍̭͈̔̂̏̎̍̍̀̒̅̎̈̽̎͘͢͜͞͝_̢̡̢̺̭͉͇̻͍̘̯͔̼̞͙͍̠͔͖̉̆̿͑̈́͑̒̈̂̆̿̔͗̇͐̉̈́̚̚͟͜͠͞+̢̣̦̤͉̞̤̞̻̮̼̖̦͕̮̱̤̥̺̣́͗͐͆̓̀͒̏̀̆̌̃̉́̓̂̀͘͟͢͝͡͡-̧̙͓̪̝̹͚̟̯͚̖͒͐̐̌̽͐͑̇̈́̅̕̚͢͟͢͠͡͠ͅ)̡̛̪̱̹̙̯͖̦̹̰͓͓͔̱̹͓̰̲͉̪̺̋̋͒̉͒̂̎̽̏̔͛̂̆͋̈́̚͘͡͠ͅ(̘̦̯̺̭͙̳͎̝̻͙̱̣̲̭̤̑̐̽̈̔͑̈́̉̾͊̌̈́̊̕͝*̟̤͖͉̭̣̝̹͔̠͚̃̽̓̑̽̊̈́̂̿͝͡&̻̤̱̩͇̲̩̓̍̔̉̊̀̕/̢̨̯͎̗̯͙̖̠̘̗͋̔͆̀̅͗͛̽̂̀̃͊͘͟͜͢.̩̦̮̺̗́̏̍̽̈́͜'̧̡̙̘͓͎̙̦̜̝̦̓̂̿̌̌̃̿̌̓=̠̰̫̰̏̏̑͋.̰͠.͎̤͙̔͠͝-̫̐͢.̰̝͚̈́̆̈͟͠.̡̱̮̦͊̍͊͡=͚͍̀̃̿͜-̨̡̒.̯̿,͔̞͌̅.̗͔̋̉,̘͂-̨͍̑̍.̰̖̣̘͑̏́͝.̨̜̀.̭͊"̙͉̰̄̍̍̽͢.̢̰̤͖̓͌̔͊..̜̭̟͂̔̓.̣͌.̖̆'̘̳͖͓̒͋́̔";̳̦͖͗̅͡.̛̩͕͓̬̍̕.̛̪̖͕͙̾̈́͘ ̢̙̥̄͜͡͡.̱͙͖͛̌͞=̭̳̄͗͑͟ ̨̱̙̫͎͒̿̾͡.͙͎͇̋͛̚͟͝ ̛̣̲͚̿̉͊͢*̱̱͍̾͐͘.̣͊ ̻̥̳̗̀͌̉̇.̢̖͖̓̅̋ ͇̐_.̟͇̱̗̬̓̾̅̈͝.̺̽.̫͉̲̾͛͘.*̣?͎̝̻̆̓̂"̠̫̦͛̎̾:̨͙̰͍͊̂̇̌,̨̍>̫̻̽̈<͓͒̇͜?̬̌;̙̽~̠̍+͈͔̩̻̻̔̍̊̓̀_͎̇~̡̖̣͍̙̈́̂͝.̣̞̝̰͋͋̂͞..͈͕̝̬͌͑͆͌.͎̜̹̦̆̐̀̀~̘̲̯̠̂͛͌̎ ̬̟͔̺̠͂̑̊̉͊.̡̤̲̋͒̂.̻̓ ̛̗͊͜.͍̺̞̼͊̍̉̒͗͜=̙͖͓̖̐̆̿̽̚͢.̦͐.͍̾.̥̕-͖̺͎͚̆̊̄͘̕͢.͎̟̮̂͛̆,͍̬͇͋̚̕.͇̘̥͗̊͐͢,̢̭̉̑-̨̪̠̟̻̄̿͋̄͞.̙̤̆̀.̳͕̠̖͛̈̌.̮̯̽͒"]͇̣͇̂̾̐.͕̞̼̑̎̚.̦̥̹̙̮̃͑̔͞͡ḫ̢̢̮̰̪͕̰̙̞̓̊̍̏̾͐̋̃̏͘͢͢͡͡ȇ͈̤̠̠̦̟̣̣̻̣̭̞̫̪̬̳̇̍̾̊̈͑̿̾̔͛̿͊̊͘͞'̛͍̤̘͚̯̋͑̂̕͘ͅs̘̯̭̻̥̥̳̜̟͖̦̅̎̔͌͒̑̅̅̓̽͡ͅ ͕̰̥̬͈͇͓̤̬̦̆͂̌̒͛̊͗͒͒̚̚͟j̨̫͉̠̺̖̙͙͉͔̲͑̽͂̑̾̑̉͐̓̓̕͜ų̛̱͉̪̺̖̝͔̯̦͙̅̆̓̌̊̅̅̉̂̚͢s̨̡̬̬̖͖͙͚̾̍̈́̏͂̂͘̚͟͞ţ̢̥̪̩̠͓̬̰̐͊̈̊̄͛̏̀̃ ͎̻͈͓̦̞̠̪̗̥̈̒̂̈́̔͋̌͘̚͠a͙̠̠͍̦̭̦͂̌͛͑͗̇͝͠ͅ ̨̡̥̭̝̹̟̺̈́͗͛͂̆͗̅̓ͅk͇͔͙̞̲̣̎̎͆̄͠í̡̧̛̩̹͇͍̹̣̯͆̾̒̄̃̕̕͞ͅḑ̤̩̮͓̤̣̹̪̙̦͈̓̎̒̃̈̓̃̇͗̂̚͟͟͡͡]̹̩͙̘͐͛͠͡;̣̼̽̉̄͢.͈̗̫̂͛̕.̛̠̘̹̏͡.̲̜̇̂.̡̩̲̞̅͂̕.̧̳̬͇̹̽̓̆̌̈.͖̼͂̆'̨̹̽͐̕͢"̨̯̹̙̺̄͆̈̏̈́;̪̀͝ͅ.. ̡͔̘̚͠.̮̀̚ͅ=͓̉ ̝̑.̺̍ *͍̄.̱̭̣̟͖̔͂̏̀͘ ̏ͅ.̠̜̙̄̒̎()̞̱̆͞_̡̟̼̀̅͆"}̛̤̠̮̱̝̉̕͝͠{͙̓:̙͓͗͗̽̅͟ͅ>̳̭̖͎͊̃͞͡.̻͙͈̩̈́̾̃͋.̳͈̫̭͛̈́͞.͙̫͍͈̌͆̕͘.̡̢̤̤̻̏͆̓̍͘'̘͇̥̳̋͑̊͡";͓̚.̨̿.͕͞ ̨̦̍͛ 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{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝?̫͖̯̐͘>̛̟̯̱̗͉̤͈̳̯͈̝͓̣́͂̾̌̇̄̊͐̂͗͡͞ͅ;̛͕̲̜̥̲̥̯̰̜͖̟͑̉̏̓̇̾̄̇̄̚͟͢"̼̼̝̦̟̣̹̹̫͇͔̝̣̇͊͆̊̑̀͆̾͒̿͌̑͘̕͜>̩̘̬͕̬̥̂̋̏͋̈̚"̛̭̺̟͓̳̙͔̬̠̞̟͈̞̉̔͆̑̇͐̀̑̓̕̚͟͠͡ͅ{̧̧̟͉͈͍̠̪̘͖̾͑̓̍̈͗́͛͢͠{̫͎̰̭̥̝̠͓̃̉̾͆̊͑̏͡:̡̜̦̯͎̗͇̻̦͕̬̖͇̞̹̠̓͌̿̀͗̂́̎̆̓͂̽̒͟͠͝͞[͇̱͐͗{̡͍̜̗̖͖̳͇͓̦͉̠̖̖͚̮̙̹͓̻̌͗̓̅̊͂̍̍̿̌̈́̌͆͌̔̿̚͘̚̕͜͢͠͝͞ͅ=̨̧̻̻̳̺̳̻̼͕̣̳̰̽̀̋̌͆͛̅̐̍̌̿̕̚͜͡--̢̹̦͉̻̫̙̥͖͖̣̜̟̠̹̾̽̊̑̋̊̄̇͛͂̆͒͘͜͡_̢̬̰̯̞̳̰̘̘̘͉̻̐̓̅̐̎͒̄͆̕̚͘͞_̢͚̠͈̙̞̍̇̃̋̐̄̃ͅ>̯̘̝̘̝̖̣̼̣̩̫̆̈͂͊̀̓͛͋̈͠͞+̨̡̦̩͚̮̞̙̣̒̔̀̋̓͋̉̓͡_͚̦͍̈́~̢̡̢̛͎̪̙̼͔͙͇͎̣̤̠̹̮͇̟̻̠̳̰̄̈́̌͊͛͒̈̎̓̔͛̓͋͊̿̉͐͐̃̈̄̐̿͢ͅ`̨̛̳̞̜̪̺̠̯̫͈̏̋͂͒̐̀͊͞͞`̨̰̗̭̺̼̮̜̟̣̘̤̲̭̟̹̽̋̐̄̐͂̉͌̈̔̂̅̂̽̒̀̚͜ͅ`̡̘̰̥̭͔͔͔̖̪̪̫̦͕̟̣̣̝̯͖̲̜͈̞́̈́̌̊̄͒̅͒̈͒̿̉̿͗̋̽̔̎͆͒͗̚̚͠~'̢̨̛͕͙̝̱̹̼̟̩̬̬͚̱̲̣̭͙́͗̋̂͐̈͋̊͗͛̄͒̏̋̚͞͡.̡̡̡̧̨̰̝̜̦̮͔͍̘͕̩̣̱̭͚̳͌̓̽̄̽̓̽͂̍̔͛̒̉͒̏́͂̕͘͟͝͠.̢̫̦̪͒̿̋̌͜͝,͚͓̞͕͍͎͍̜̠̲̣̭͙͙̝͚͗̐͊̄́̔̍̓́͆̿̏͆͘͘͜͢͠͞͝/̛̛͈͔̲͕̞̫̘̙̳̼͗̇̂̊͛̒͗̓.̢̧̧̼̝͓̭̬͔̤̯͇̻͚͒̾͑͌̔̋͊̑̎̉͘͜͢͡͠,͖͊.̻̦̍̓'̧̧͕̞̱̠̯̣̼̟̦͕̱͕͑̔̅̊̐͆̓̿͆̉̋͋̕͘͟͜͢͡͠͡͝͞ͅͅ;̨̡̨̢̙̥̟̦̪̮̞͍͇͎̥̘̳̮̍̏̉̃̓̾̈́͊̓̌́͗̈̓̒̓͘̕͠ͅ[̨̼̳̰͔͇̗̱̍͊̿͋̓͊͌̔̾̆̾͜͢ͅ]̧̧̪͔̫̬̱̞̹̦̝̥̲̤̞̻̪͖͈̝̄̐̿̒͐͌̊̆̾͋͗͐͛͌͊͗̌̓̋͟͟͢͠͞͡.̢̡̛̜͉̞̙̭̯͔̱͙̺̰͈̳̻̤̰̞̀̆̏̔̓̾͒̊̈́̄̅̄̐̆̀̑̅͘͜͝͝ͅ~̧̗̠̰͉͍̦̯̜̼͈̬̭̞͚̺̫͇̝̳̟̎̊̓̿͋͂̾͑̏̂̇͛̾̎͒͑͒͟͢͡͠͝͠͡~̨̛̠̱̜̟͎͚̣̋͛͛͑̈́̍͗~̟̘̭̰̖͙̳̰̰͇̬̻̱̠͍̭͈̔̂̏̎̍̍̀̒̅̎̈̽̎͘͢͜͞͝_̢̡̢̺̭͉͇̻͍̘̯͔̼̞͙͍̠͔͖̉̆̿͑̈́͑̒̈̂̆̿̔͗̇͐̉̈́̚̚͟͜͠͞+̢̣̦̤͉̞̤̞̻̮̼̖̦͕̮̱̤̥̺̣́͗͐͆̓̀͒̏̀̆̌̃̉́̓̂̀͘͟͢͝͡͡-̧̙͓̪̝̹͚̟̯͚̖͒͐̐̌̽͐͑̇̈́̅̕̚͢͟͢͠͡͠ͅ)̡̛̪̱̹̙̯͖̦̹̰͓͓͔̱̹͓̰̲͉̪̺̋̋͒̉͒̂̎̽̏̔͛̂̆͋̈́̚͘͡͠ͅ(̘̦̯̺̭͙̳͎̝̻͙̱̣̲̭̤̑̐̽̈̔͑̈́̉̾͊̌̈́̊̕͝*̟̤͖͉̭̣̝̹͔̠͚̃̽̓̑̽̊̈́̂̿͝͡&̻̤̱̩͇̲̩̓̍̔̉̊̀̕/̢̨̯͎̗̯͙̖̠̘̗͋̔͆̀̅͗͛̽̂̀̃͊͘͟͜͢.̩̦̮̺̗́̏̍̽̈́͜'̧̡̙̘͓͎̙̦̜̝̦̓̂̿̌̌̃̿̌̓.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́.̤̻͇̰̎̈́̓̈́̈͟ ͓̹̱̀̽.̨̜̦̆̓̃́͗ͅͅ=̘̠̂̚ ̢̩͎̓̿̌.̱̺̍̿ ͈̆*.̨̡̇̾ ͈͖̲͛̋̄͘͜.̤̰̼͗͡͝ ̘̥̃̿.̛̗.̼̟̇̉.͉̻̠͐̒͒.͚̬̣̗̆̈̇̄*̺̻͓͋͑͐̒͜~̜̬͋̕.͖̬͕̰̽̾̒̅.͎͈͕̑̍̕.̻̹͈͒̃̕.̛̙̩͖̏͛~̨̻̊̋ ̛͕̘̗̞̖́̍͐͛.̰̰́̍.̪͛ ̥̹̟͛̆͘.͍̾=͙̼̞̽͒̚.͎̦̺̹͐̿̉͘.̨̯̣̟̼̅̆̈̈́̔-̨̡͚͛̄͡.̧͈̤̍͘͝,̣͚̑̎-̛̙̠̜͞͠.̡̮̬̣͊̕͠͞.̧̐.̨̛͓̗͇̎̆͠..̗̭̱̍̄̏̓͟]̯̣̱̅͌̉;͔͙͗͞.̠̜́̽̄ͅ.̹̻̋̒.̢̢̩̬͂́̇̒̓ͅ..̤.̱͌'̝̠͆̋͜͡"̢̫̩̳̇̓̍;̦͖̠͍̈̽̈́͒.̻̬̰̈̐͋ͅ.̡̧̢̙̘́̒͂̂̾ ̺̰̤̞̔̀͐͛.͍̉.}̨͡{̰̇"͈͒?̛͎̥͖̃̃>̥̪̇̂ ̼̼̪͚̖̃͐̃̽͊.͔̟̭̾̋̕=̭͛ ͇̹̰̺̐̐.̥̥̹̣͓̀̎͋͠ ̹̥̀͗͟͝*̺̠̩̾̂́.̦̦͛̎ ̧̖̺͑͗͋.̥̱͛͑ ̻̬̞̂̎̍͑̇͜ͅ.̛͙.̡̦̾̋̀̚͟ͅ.̱̞͎̱̎͗͌͡.͎͡.͇̼̉'̼̼͋̐"̟̄;.̻͙͎͊̌̇.̛͎͔̞̥̔͌ ̧͇̝̹̮̍̍̂̆̕.̱͍̊͆ͅ.̧̹̐͛.̟̲̋͠*͍̖̃̿~.̪̝̈̿́͢͢.̧̛̖̩̽̍̊͜.̲̹̭͉̥͑̓̔̄̿ ̧̨̱̇͡.̗̟̲̤̮̊̏͛̅̆.̪̉}̝̥̘̠̦͋̂̀̋͐{͍̪̂̊"͉̄?̧̂>̩͂.̡̩̝́̈̑ ͙͍̮͎̂͌͆̓.̠͑͘ͅ.̤̹͖̂͋͗}̡̜̪͑̽͘{̩̞̍̚͢"͔̯͍̑̄͠?͍͠>͎̥̄̈́~͈̫̎͟͝ ̍̉͢ͅ.̛̥͉̣͔̘́͒̿͂. ̢͔̼͙͇͒̀̽̒͒.͎͚̰̙̦̄̈́͛̌̈́=̢͉͛̑̅͟.̧̦̲̗̎̋̍͡.̨͇̦̥̄̅͒̆-̟̹̔̏͟.̦͖̃͘.͔̰͝=̤͙̒̚-̭̌.̣̙̏̏,̤̯̘̮͊̔̄̅.̹̆,͕͊-.̘̟͍̀͆͋̏͜͜͞.̬̮́̑.̢̩͗̚"̥͙̉͠[̠̰̳̩̅̆̆͛͢͞.̹͖͇͂͑͐.͙̿]͍̌;̢͕͇̈́̈́.̛͉͚̖͎̟͑̐̈̇.̤͎͉͈̑͐̔..̢̗̈̃.̤̪̜̭̇̋͗.̳̗͍̫̎̇̿͒'͚̍"̢͚̬͐̍̀̐ͅ;̖̈́.̗͖͙̦͒̉̈͘ ̣̬̮͈̿͗͐̕.̫̣̼̻̋͛̀̃.͉̬̳̅͒̑}̢̡̖͉̒͗̊̀{̠̭͞͠"̢̮͒̌?̱̥̓͂>̝̩͔̓͗͞ ͍̹̊̚.̜̰̇͊ ̲̰̙̃̒̀̕͢.͉͉̄͠.̖̰̝̙͓͊͌̔͐̈.̫̍.͈̿.̨̜̹͕̿͘̕͠'͇̽"̹͠;̞̩͕͆͑̎͜͡.͕̍.̭̰͕͙͕̎͂͒̇̚ .̡͕̳̳̋̓̽̈͌͜.͔̍.*̭̯̅~̮͖͎͛̎́.̧͚̊̐.̗̕.͚̙̯̐̾͠ ͈͉͑͊.̟̲̚͠.̬̼̝͊̂͊}͙̆{̨͔͓͌͝͝"̮̂?̝̚͟>͈̟̑͢͝͝.͙̱̬̓̿͞ ̳͠..̢̢͎̤̃̀͛̑}͕̉{͔͚̝͕͋̈́̐̅"̛͔͖̹̋̈́?͕͙͂̌>̧̳̫̫͉̓̎̋̇̅~̞̱̦̝̦͊̈́̓̂͘ **̩̈́.̲̽.͇̲̩̲̋̈̐̚ ̢̟̼̀͆̐.̻̙̖̒̊̂=͖̾͗͢.̢̱̌̈͜.̣͓͇̳͌̓̏͞-͔̆.̹͚̍̒.͉͛=̢̢͓̈́́͝-̬̪̻̄͑̌͢͟.̥̜̇̈́̍ͅ,̨̟̟͖̔̌͒͞.͕̊,̜͕͂͌-̡̪̉̕.̻͙͍͔̏̾̔̇.̩̐."͖̭͈̞̔̾̆̎[.̟̓̿͟.̧̖̮̙̩͂̽͗̍͡]̝͓̭͑̈́͐;̳̺͈͐̔̕.̻̰̭̉̎͋.̣͗.̩̟͖̏̈́͡.͓̅..̟̩̖̊͆͠'͚̞̯͊̇͂"̖͎̝̄̅͊;͍̦̱̺̮͛̇̎̃͞.̯̯͓̺̑̃͠͝ .̥̩͐͐.}͇̠̿i͖̲̼̭͊͊̉̇ ̩̓̑͛͟͜c̤̗͇̔̓͠a̳̤̾́n̰̪̅̏'͈͕̰̲̔̓̃̓ţ͓̣͕͎̌̊̂̽̚ ͍̞̘̈̎̎d̨̳̳̽̔̾o̝͍̘͓͑͐̏͛̕͜ ̣̭̻͙͊͑͛̈́t̰͞h̛̰̥͎̣̯̓͛̐͆i̤̹̿͛s̖̳͕̺͙̾̅̈̍͡ ̫̩̃̾ ͌͢{̨͔͌̏"̙̟̘̌̍? >̳͈́̌;̥̜͖̟̉̇̇"̹͆̀͜>̘̬̋̚"̛̟̳̬̉͆̇ͅ{͍̪̘̍͠{̥͆:̡̞͗́͟͝[̱͗{̡̦̠͚̓̊͂̿=̧̼̣̀̌͛--̫͖̟̾̑_̳̘̐͒_̠̙̍̃>̼̩̈̀+̡͚̀̋_͚~̣̹̟̠͊̎̔̓`̺̯̋͂`̼̜̘̲̋̐͂̚`̪̦̣͖̜̌͒͒̿̿~'̛̟̬͚̣͙̂̈͋͗.͍͕̣̱̳̽̽̍͛̕.̦̿,̣͙̝́̓͢͠͞/̞̳̇̂.̬̯̾͑͢͡,.̻̍'̧͕̅̐͡ͅ;̢̪̥̉̾̓[͔̗͊̿̓͢]̧̥̤̻͖̿͌̆͛͞.̛̭͙̳̞̆̓̈́~͈̞̺̝̿̾̏̂~̛͚~̳̰͇̱̭̔̂̍͘_̢̘̞͙͔̉͑̈́͑̂+̖̮̥̓͒̆͘͢-̪̟̐͡)̡̰͔͉̺̋̉͒̎͠(̳͎͙̲̭̐̈̔͑̉*̭̝̠̃̓͡&̩̩̓̔/͎̯̖̔͆͗͛͢.̮̗́̍'̦̜̝̿̌/͓̙̝̮̇̓͒̑͋͟'̛̫̐͜'̢̠̯̀̈̒ḫ̢̢̮̰̪͕̰̙̞̓̊̍̏̾͐̋̃̏͘͢͢͡͡ȇ͈̤̠̠̦̟̣̣̻̣̭̞̫̪̬̳̇̍̾̊̈͑̿̾̔͛̿͊̊͘͞'̛͍̤̘͚̯̋͑̂̕͘ͅs̘̯̭̻̥̥̳̜̟͖̦̅̎̔͌͒̑̅̅̓̽͡ͅ ͕̰̥̬͈͇͓̤̬̦̆͂̌̒͛̊͗͒͒̚̚͟j̨̫͉̠̺̖̙͙͉͔̲͑̽͂̑̾̑̉͐̓̓̕͜ų̛̱͉̪̺̖̝͔̯̦͙̅̆̓̌̊̅̅̉̂̚͢s̨̡̬̬̖͖͙͚̾̍̈́̏͂̂͘̚͟͞ţ̢̥̪̩̠͓̬̰̐͊̈̊̄͛̏̀̃ ͎̻͈͓̦̞̠̪̗̥̈̒̂̈́̔͋̌͘̚͠a͙̠̠͍̦̭̦͂̌͛͑͗̇͝͠ͅ ̨̡̥̭̝̹̟̺̈́͗͛͂̆͗̅̓ͅk͇͔͙̞̲̣̎̎͆̄͠í̡̧̛̩̹͇͍̹̣̯͆̾̒̄̃̕̕͞ͅḑ̤̩̮͓̤̣̹̪̙̦͈̓̎̒̃̈̓̃̇͗̂̚͟͟͡͡**

 **.̯̕ ̟͎̟̦̦͌̑̊̎͝.̱̠͍̕͘͝(̼͈͖̚͡)̤͙͔̌͊̍_̢̞̺̺̾̿̂̓"͔͋̓ͅ}̝̥̪̲̇̂͘͡{̨͓̍͘: >̠̲̭̃͒̚.̤͊.̢̦͍̑́̔͢͠.̘͕̉̋.̦͔̤̎̉̽'̤̱̮̤̇͋̐͆"̡̯͍̼͒͌̾̕;̫̩͗͝.͎̬̿̌.͍͙͓̟̭̃̽͐͒͊ *̲̺͍̈̾̚.̧͍̰͇̬̈̍̒̌ ̧̮̖̞̯͓͐́̓̒̂̾.̛̙̮̮͗͗ ̤̇.̼̲͉͍̉͊͆͒́ͅ.̙̖̩͈̭̅͌̔̎̈.̨̲͈̖̼̖̭͕̙̉͌͒̏̄̈́̇͘̚͢͡.͖̺̮͆͛̈͢*̪̝̱͇̞̫̗̄̐̑̅̚͠~̗̽.̞͔̩̤̝̹̘̪̣͛͑̔͗̒̑̾͘̕.̭͖͉̬͕̻̼̉͂͗̅͑̉̀͘ͅ.̧̢̫̩̝̟̪̈̐͌̎͛͞͡.̣̖̞͙̩͋̓̑̐͞~̛̘ ̹̦̯͉̮̹̼̇̊̄̽̽̔.̦̼͉̪͍̙̩͇̳̪̹͎̉͂͒͑̒̒̐̃̔̂͘.̢̨͓̤̞͉̖̠̜͓̻̌͊͗͐̇̈̊̔͊͗͊͜͠ ̣̩̎͑̽͢.̡̛͓͠=̫̽.̛̛̫͈̻͕̦̺́͂̇̚.̨̛̛͚̩͉̣̝͉͉̦̤̘̰̦̃̍́̎̄̈̚͘̚͠-̢̧̗̫̖̜̬̲͔͖̯̂͊͋͐͊̏̈́̆͒͆͝.͔̥̗̭̖͑̒̃̽͒̕ͅ.̮̅̑ͅ=̩͎̥̻̂̂-̨̨̨͙̟̖̜͎͔̜͉̄̅̐̃̅̿͑́́̅͠.͕̦͓͙̪̓̏͊̀̀,̣̙̜͗́̄̊͟.̗͖͎͍̠̻̥̭̔̌̀̆͆͘͘͢,̲̬͔̱̐͋͐̏-̩͓̯͙̗̗̥͓̌̒͑̄̓̄͆̚͟.͍̝̙̝͔̥͇͚̮̏̿̍̅̍̓͋͘͜͞͞.͍̈.̲̼̂̃̚ͅ"̢͕͔̦̉̾͝[̹͠].͓͔̖̱͔̲̘͛́̎̊͂̐͢.̥̘͊̿͢ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t]̪̘͎̖̣̄̏̉̾̔͑̓͜͜;̩͚̝̣̘̅̇͒͠.̨͉̑̉.̛̙͖̟̠̟̯̦̓̒̿̏͊̚.̳͉͓̲̭͖͙̭͛̆̈́͊̿͛͞.̠͚͉̖̼̥̋̈̊̅͋͝.̯̤͎̏̽͝.̦̑̕͟'̡̰̬̲̃̿̾͋"̨͕̩̖͇̲̍̾̄̑̄̎;̡̰̭̅̀́.̭̓.̣͓̲̅̌͆ ̥̇̍ͅ.̢͖̞̳̼͓͓̃̈́̈́̐̀͠=̠͈̙̘̰̰͙̞͗͌͊̓͛̏́̕ ̝̤̞͔͛͗̽͂.͈̮̘͖͙̪̥̟͛͆͋͒̔̽̌̚͢͢͝͠ ̧̳͔̩̞͓͉̊͒̋͂̂̓̕*̫̭̭̥̟̓̀̉̓͠.̜̟̓̈ ̪̘̖͍͍̖̀͌͐͗͑͘͢͠.̡͈̜̳̫̤͐̿̃̇̍̄͟͝ ̪̜̗͂̽̊̀͟.̫̲̝͍̎̿̄̿̔̌͟͜.̢̧̛̣̩̼̭̦̙̠̘̃͐̑͗̌͌͒͘͞.̼͓̤̳͛͐͋͞.̺̤̗͉͚̩͙͖̩̍̏̄̑̉͛͑̏͗͟͝*̨̣̙̤̄͛̎̏͢͡~̡̙̝̪͔̟̳̈͐̑̓̑̚̚͠ͅ**.̡̨̗̞͓̣̘̍̓͗̒̓̾͡.̳̼̮̮̈́̈́̈́͆̌́͟͟.̝̥̪͍͍͍̳̼͐́͊̽͊̐̒͢͝͞͠ͅ.̰͓͎̭̤̪̭̞͌̇̅̀̑͋͒͘~̞͔͕̺̙͙͕̭̗̺̈́́̅͆́͜͞͠͞ ̺͕͔̗̙̔͒͆̄̚.͉͙͖̲͚̂̇͡͞ _.̬͚͋̾ ͖̳̈́͡.̢͚͓̺͚͇̗̃͑̽̌̋̎͝=͓͉͚̥̲̹͚͆̂̇́̃͗.̧̡͈͈̭̘̋͋̎̇̂͂.̨̛̝̩͙͓̖̞͓̋̾̈́̎͌̽̈́͜-̢̳̦͊̌̑.̭̗̦̱̄͊̂͝.̢͚̹̝͕̪̖̊̎͌̈͘͡=̨̜̟̪̽̂̓̌̔ͅ-̬̌̔͟.͍̱̼͑͆̕,.͎͎̣̦̝̫̘͑̓̀̾̅̌̿͢͞,̨̱͈͉̩̠̬̓͂̌̌͠-̨̨̘̫̙̤̫̰̘̂̈̇̓̇̌͊̍͞.̘̙̏̄.̼̯̱͈̫̰̻̮͋̒͑̅͐̉̎͜͞͠.͉̃"̖͡[̢̤͇̱̇́͂̽̂̎͟ͅ]̘̺̟̖͙̻̝̠̩̏̐̊̔̅̇͂̈́̆.̗̭̙̌̉͞.̲̰̌̚]̡̧̨̝̩̣͕̗̦͎͌̈́̈́̍̃̚̕͘͜͡͞;̡̫̘͈̮̹͍̋̂̐̒̀̌̓.̥̦͉͎̫̩̪̓̍̾̃̚͝͝.̧͓̗̮͙͑̓͌̐͡.̢͎̫͇͓̣̅̓̐̈́͝.͓͇̫̞̻̞̤̣͈̗̝̆̈́̾͒̾̃̾̈̽̾͠.̧̨̝̜̙̌̒̿̐͌͟͝.̛̛̯̮̼̣̪̟̬̰̦̀͛̇̓̄̇'̩̑"̼̝͔̠̮̪̆͋̿̏͛̕;̡̦͉̺̬͕̇͛̍͗͜͡.͍̬͙̭̇͒̾̈́.̡͖͕̺͖̑̅́̄̈̅̅̅͢͢ͅ .̜̕=͇̖̣̍̃̋ .̰̝̼̖͂͛̎̌ ̛̰̗̼̰̹̤̪̘̮̞̺̓̍͆̏̾͌̄́͘͞*̛̥̯͓̻̻̣͖̤̹̉̆̈́́̾̈̔͛̒͜.̢͖̣̔͒ ̘̪̘̳̺͇͇͒̏̋̆̌̒̾.̢̛̺͚̠͌̈̚ ̠̞͈̗̿̄͝.̧̛̼̦̙̬͉̭̏̅͑͌̇͑̂̕ͅͅ.̳̩̣̦̮̻̜̺̔̊͂̓̆̓͞͡ͅ.̨̥̙̝̿̕͠͝.̲͔̜̥̻͖͉̼͗̽̅̃͌͌͘͠*~̱͞.̤̰̮̥̙̆̍̏̚̕.̢̨̗̠̮̱̘̉͛͐̆̈̾̚͘͜͜.̟̣̐͠.̨͔͈̬͙̩̟̮͐̓̒́͆͛̀͘~̡̧̬͙̳̲͔̟̬̆̀̉̀̎͊̋̕͡ ͎̙͐͘.̼͇͈͙͓̥̼͋͆͆̇͘͝͝ͅ.̢̨̭͍̓̄̽̉ ͖̝̱̽̎͑.̨̘̹͎̯̞̫͖̣͋͂͊̈̋͑̋͛͘͠ͅ=̨̱̫͗̚͡.̧̢͇͍͔͆̈̏͞.̗̘͉͎̆͋̅́-̜͕̳̤͖̤̼͓̬̓̌́̇̓̀̚͘͞.͓̽.͎̪̲̲̍̍̋͞=-̡̛͓̩͔̜͆̍̋̂͜͠.̨̻͓̹̫̮̭̏́͌͂͆͂͞,̰̤̰̩̬̮͔͛̑̽͑̒̑͠.̧͙̟̙̜͙͚̝̑́͒͋̋͑̾̀,̧̤͚͎̺̙̰̊̀͑̑͗̕-̧̛͓̺̪͔̗̜̿̎̌͋͌͒̐͟͜.̢̎.͙͘.̠͇̰̼͎͆̄͂̃͒͆͌͜͢"͙͔̎͡..̨̖̯̖̲̘͉̱̭̗̿͒͊̆̋͛͘͘͠͞]̧̛̲͍́͠;̨͕̣͍̘̤̖̳̼̾̏̿̽͗̓͆̏̿ͅ.̢̠̺̼̙̦̖̳̹͐͂͌́͘͘͘͠͝.̳͙͈̦̉̾̅͐.̨͖̳̟̦̖͉̘͔͈̾̏̈́̈́͐̌̊̎͢͠͝͞ͅ.̛̯͙̺̩͊͛͗̋͢.̛̼͖̫̦̈́͜͝͠͡.̣̤̱͎͙̗̭̯̩̱̹̎̄̽̋̊͊̒̌̋̇͞'̪̼͑͌͢͠"̢̬̻͚͎̪̇͌͐̐̕͠;.̨̎.̘̯̦͚̺͚̃̆̊̀͑͘̚͟ ͎̱̘̌̊̽͘͟.̖̤̞̭̹͙̙̯̦͍̈́̏̒̎͆̀̔͋̓͆=̯̙͕̇̔̉̎͟ ̺͍͚̝̗̲̊̊̿̈͞͝.̨͍̲̼͔͕̮͎̰͆̏̉̊̿̊͗̾̕ ̥̼̺̥͈̳̟̲̘̮͆̋̈́͊͛̍̃͑͐͗̕ͅ*͙̃. ̞̇.̢̧̡͕̼̟͉̺͉̺̳̺̓̌̿̍͒̎͊̏̌̿̕ ̛̭̖̗͇̖̦͚̦̏̓̽́̐̋̄.̢̛̘̙̯̗̤̻̦̙̔͋̃̽̿̐͆̇͢͞.̨̢̥͖͔̗̗̓͑͑̊̌͊̿͟͞.̤̮̬̝̖̃̏̓̿̿.̤̇*̡̛̠͓͔͚̙̑͒̅͊̚~̬̘́̆.̝̠̩̣̣̽͋͐̎̅.̰̂.̲͚͔̄͞}̡̩͍̐͒͒͡ͅ{̣̞͠͠"͖̹͕͛̑͆? >͕͕͐́<̨̡̮͆̓.̧̝̲͆͋͛.͈̭̗̌̄̓̿ͅ*̝̊~̣̻̤̭̽̄̔͆̕͢..̟̬́̋͜͡..̱́̚ͅ~̩͚͕͛̓̑̓͢ ̫̼̰͖̂̆͊͝ͅ.̧̫͖̣͋̂̚͠.̧͔̄̄̾͜ ̬͉͛.̠̒=̪̱̞̔̉͋..-̭͚̅..̧͕̹̌̅͆=̨̠̳̘̩̄͑͛̇͂-̩̥̣̅̈́̀̒͜.͔̤̅ͅ,͈͗.̧̙͉̝̩̏͐̅̈̔,̭̑{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒._

̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́ ͙̠̱̰̰̼̅͐̒̄͊̈́͟͞.̨̛͖͎̲̘͔̻̘͔̋̂͊̓̍̆͆͑͗͟͢͞ ̤̫͕͎̭̪̐̂̈́͑͊̑*̥͕͇̭̒̎̽͝ͅ.̧̨̞̭̺̩͈̣̩̙̫̩̀͌̅̋̿͛̀̏̏̆͐̌͑͟ ̨̱͎͎̟͎̹̩̬͙̗̟͚̩̓͌̆̓͗̅̒̎͌͆̚͘͟͞͝͡.͚̼̥̭̤̾̈́͆̕ ̟͕̼͎̗̩̰̦̅̑͗͐̍͂̎̇͜͝.̧̊.͓̠̳̮͙̟͇̿̓̽̂̒͛͛͢.̺̤͇͋͝.̦͉͍̰̼̮̲̃́͗̏̓͜͡*̧̧̳̜͙͎̜̈́̆̅̄͠͡~̢̧̢̬̉̊̐̚͟͠.̨̛͕͖͔̘̰͎̳̻̣̯̠̇̽̽̌͛̋͗̚̚͝.̟͙̱̉͝.͍̼̞͎̟̖̩̱̐̑͊̽͛͌͘͝͠ͅ.͖́͘ͅ~̝͑ ̡͕̪͙͇̙̱̽͋̃̌̅̐.̯̦͙̟͎͈̻̊̓̎̉̌̿̿̄͜͢͡.͉̟̘͖͈̭̯̭͉͖͉͎̻͂͋̓̍̌̓͌̾̄͊̿͘͜͝ ̱̯͗͛.͉͒=̢̢͎̹̋̏͒̕.̧͖̙̪̃̎͛̆͞ͅ.͓͆-̢͉̮̠̞̪͇̺̂̏̿̂͛̌̉͋̑͟͜͞.̝̘̭͔̥̞͚̯͉̠͚͗̀̋̽̑̏̃̌͑̾̃̏͘͢ͅ.̡̰̳̺̤̫̩̥͓̱̺͑̈̔̒̇̎͒͗̅͠͝=͕͙̱͙̫̼͋̈̍̔̕͡-̛̩͍̬̖̺̩͎̇̓̽̏̇̒͢͞.,͈̬͖̯̼̬͊͗͗̆̔͘.̛̫͕͞,̡̥͈̮̤͛̽̀̍̊̚͢-̨̟͍̣̃̉̌̇̔͟.̧̼̙̣̖̺̄͛̌́̾̎.̛̫̦̭͉͚̖̳̀̉̏͐̕͜͠͠.̻̘͇̘̭̺̯͓̦͒̂́͆̉̊͋̏͢͠.̢̟̹̦͚͖͆̍̑̋͗̀̌͢.̱͔̮̜͓̦̜̻͆̓̏̐̉́͘͞͠ͅ]͕͇̩̖̩̔̌̃͠;̨̨̨̙̱͚͓͕̻͍̯͎̺̘̺͉̺̞̍̽̂̃̐̑͗͂̿̌̇͌̓̽͊͗̇͠.̭̻͇̳͖͍̬͆͛̊̐̂͗͘͞ͅ.̡̢͔̻͋͒͝͠.̙̥͍̮̟̓͂́͒̄́ͅ.̫̪͈̥͓̱̭͕̄̅͛͆̃́͛̚.̨͈̳͔̎̍̆̕ -̝͗..̺̋.̮̤̉͆"͉͖̇̃[ ͕̔.̥͕̼͖͛͊̀͆.̱̎̍͑̾͢͢͢}͓̩̹̅̕͠t̢̫̦̻̣̏͑̔̎͒ḩ̼̅̎i̢̠̭͆͂̓͜͡s̮͉͋̇͜{͇͉̣̪́̊͒̚̕͢"̙̞̄̏̈́.̭̅i̝̿̂s̢̡̮̜̘͐͋͛͘n̥̋'̠͇̌̈t̫̝̟̓̿͘.̧̳̜̼̋̔̍͠]̬͚͕͙͆̇͛̚;̬͑ri̞̪̻͐̽̇͟g̯̟͉̦̏̐̅͞h̠͍̿̃̾͜t̞͙͛͑.̢̲̍̉.͚͂.̰̤̺̝̮͐̔̊́̎.̼̗͙̽͐͘.͚͓̳͙̿̀̌̀.͓̹̟̑̑̌̕ͅ'͓͛̏̅̎͢͢͟"̦̘̈́͠;͓͖̲̓̐.̣͛̏͟.̯̅.͎͙͙̽͗̌͟͞.̖͙̘̫̠̋̑̒̉͠.̺̅'͈̳̖͓̅͌͛̂"̢̮͘͡;̣̭͕̾̓̍͜͞.̫̂̆͢.̧͚͕̹̈̿͝͠ ̛̮̙͑͑͜͜͠.̪̯̄̆ ̳̳͈̱̐̍̓̌.̡̲̜̈̽͡= ̱̰̼͐̄͞.̨̻̋͊̍͟ ͎̭̐͑*̎ͅ.͈̣̩̫̀̅̿̀̏͟ ̨̹͙̟̩̓̆͗̅̚.̥̤̾̈́ ̗̦̑̍..̮͙̿̓̂͢.̤.̰̲́̏*̧͙̈́̅~̬̉̊͟.̳̻̯̠̇̽͛̚.͙͝.͎̖̩̑̽͛.~ ͙̙̌.͙͎̎̉̌͜.͈̭͖̻͂̍̓͘ .=̢̕ ͙̠̱̰̰̼̅͐̒̄͊̈́͟͞.̨̛͖͎̲̘͔̻̘͔̋̂͊̓̍̆͆͑͗͟͢͞ ̤̫͕͎̭̪̐̂̈́͑͊̑*̥͕͇̭̒̎̽͝ͅ.̧̨̞̭̺̩͈̣̩̙̫̩̀͌̅̋̿͛̀̏̏̆͐̌͑͟ ̨̱͎͎̟͎̹̩̬͙̗̟͚̩̓͌̆̓͗̅̒̎͌͆̚͘͟͞͝͡.͚̼̥̭̤̾̈́͆̕ ̟͕̼͎̗̩̰̦̅̑͗͐̍͂̎̇͜͝.̧̊.͓̠̳̮͙̟͇̿̓̽̂̒͛͛͢.̺̤͇͋͝.̦͉͍̰̼̮̲̃́͗̏̓͜͡*̧̧̳̜͙͎̜̈́̆̅̄͠͡~̢̧̢̬̉̊̐̚͟͠.̨̛͕͖͔̘̰͎̳̻̣̯̠̇̽̽̌͛̋͗̚̚͝.̟͙̱̉͝.͍̼̞͎̟̖̩̱̐̑͊̽͛͌͘͝͠ͅ.͖́͘ͅ~̝͑ ̡͕̪͙͇̙̱̽͋̃̌̅̐.̯̦͙̟͎͈̻̊̓̎̉̌̿̿̄͜͢͡.͉̟̘͖͈̭̯̭͉͖͉͎̻͂͋̓̍̌̓͌̾̄͊̿͘͜͝ ̱̯͗͛.͉͒=̢̢͎̹̋̏͒̕.̧͖̙̪̃̎͛̆͞ͅ.͓͆-̢͉̮̠̞̪͇̺̂̏̿̂͛̌̉͋̑͟͜͞.̝̘̭͔̥̞͚̯͉̠͚͗̀̋̽̑̏̃̌͑̾̃̏͘͢ͅ.̡̰̳̺̤̫̩̥͓̱̺͑̈̔̒̇̎͒͗̅͠͝=͕͙̱͙̫̼͋̈̍̔̕͡-̛̩͍̬̖̺̩͎̇̓̽̏̇̒͢͞.,͈̬͖̯̼̬͊͗͗̆̔͘.̛̫͕͞,̡̥͈̮̤͛̽̀̍̊̚͢-̨̟͍̣̃̉̌̇̔͟.̧̼̙̣̖̺̄͛̌́̾̎.̛̫̦̭͉͚̖̳̀̉̏͐̕͜͠͠.̻̘͇̘̭̺̯͓̦͒̂́͆̉̊͋̏͢͠.̢̟̹̦͚͖͆̍̑̋͗̀̌͢.̱͔̮̜͓̦̜̻͆̓̏̐̉́͘͞͠ͅ]͕͇̩̖̩̔̌̃͠;̨̨̨̙̱͚͓͕̻͍̯͎̺̘̺͉̺̞̍̽̂̃̐̑͗͂̿̌̇͌̓̽͊͗̇͠.̭̻͇̳͖͍̬͆͛̊̐̂͗͘͞ͅ.̡̢͔̻͋͒͝͠.̙̥͍̮̟̓͂́͒̄́ͅ.̫̪͈̥͓̱̭͕̄̅͛͆̃́͛̚.̨͈̳͔̎̍̆̕.̪̃.-͇̺̂̂̌͟͜͞.̥̯̠͗̑̏͘͢.̡̥̱̒̇͝=͙̼͋̍-̖̩̓͞.,̯͗.,̤͛̍͢-͍̉.̖̌.͚̖̉̏.̭͓͒́̉͢.̹̦͚͆̑̋.̜̦̓͞]͕̖̔;̨͕͍̺̺̂̑͗̿̇.̳͍̐͘.̢̻͋͠.̮̓́ͅ.͓̭̅͛.̨̍ ͙̠̱̰̰̼̅͐̒̄͊̈́͟͞.̨̛͖͎̲̘͔̻̘͔̋̂͊̓̍̆͆͑͗͟͢͞ ̤̫͕͎̭̪̐̂̈́͑͊̑*̥͕͇̭̒̎̽͝ͅ.̧̨̞̭̺̩͈̣̩̙̫̩̀͌̅̋̿͛̀̏̏̆͐̌͑͟ ̨̱͎͎̟͎̹̩̬͙̗̟͚̩̓͌̆̓͗̅̒̎͌͆̚͘͟͞͝͡.͚̼̥̭̤̾̈́͆̕ ̟͕̼͎̗̩̰̦̅̑͗͐̍͂̎̇͜͝.̧̊.͓̠̳̮͙̟͇̿̓̽̂̒͛͛͢.̺̤͇͋͝.̦͉͍̰̼̮̲̃́͗̏̓͜͡*̧̧̳̜͙͎̜̈́̆̅̄͠͡~̢̧̢̬̉̊̐̚͟͠.̨̛͕͖͔̘̰͎̳̻̣̯̠̇̽̽̌͛̋͗̚̚͝.̟͙̱̉͝.͍̼̞͎̟̖̩̱̐̑͊̽͛͌͘͝͠ͅ.͖́͘ͅ~̝͑ ̡͕̪͙͇̙̱̽͋̃̌̅̐.̯̦͙̟͎͈̻̊̓̎̉̌̿̿̄͜͢͡.͉̟̘͖͈̭̯̭͉͖͉͎̻͂͋̓̍̌̓͌̾̄͊̿͘͜͝ ̱̯͗͛.͉͒=̢̢͎̹̋̏͒̕.̧͖̙̪̃̎͛̆͞ͅ.͓͆-̢͉̮̠̞̪͇̺̂̏̿̂͛̌̉͋̑͟͜͞.̝̘̭͔̥̞͚̯͉̠͚͗̀̋̽̑̏̃̌͑̾̃̏͘͢ͅ.̡̰̳̺̤̫̩̥͓̱̺͑̈̔̒̇̎͒͗̅͠͝=͕͙̱͙̫̼͋̈̍̔̕͡-̛̩͍̬̖̺̩͎̇̓̽̏̇̒͢͞.,͈̬͖̯̼̬͊͗͗̆̔͘.̛̫͕͞,̡̥͈̮̤͛̽̀̍̊̚͢-̨̟͍̣̃̉̌̇̔͟.̧̼̙̣̖̺̄͛̌́̾̎.̛̫̦̭͉͚̖̳̀̉̏͐̕͜͠͠.̻̘͇̘̭̺̯͓̦͒̂́͆̉̊͋̏͢͠.̢̟̹̦͚͖͆̍̑̋͗̀̌͢.̱͔̮̜͓̦̜̻͆̓̏̐̉́͘͞͠ͅ]͕͇̩̖̩̔̌̃͠;̨̨̨̙̱͚͓͕̻͍̯͎̺̘̺͉̺̞̍̽̂̃̐̑͗͂̿̌̇͌̓̽͊͗̇͠.̭̻͇̳͖͍̬͆͛̊̐̂͗͘͞ͅ.̡̢͔̻͋͒͝͠.̙̥͍̮̟̓͂́͒̄́ͅ.̫̪͈̥͓̱̭͕̄̅͛͆̃́͛̚.̨͈̳͔̎̍̆̕ .̛̖̮̥̟̣̊̅̿̏'̛̣̘̍";̝̝̳̄̈́̕.̞̟͚̪͐̌͛͊.̛̫̹͆͆͜ ̡͔̝͗́̒.̨̹͉̦̤̐̊́̚͞.̙͙͇̆͐͌̄͟}̰͍͍́͛̋{̧͎̎͆"̛͍͉͌?̺̊>̣͍̒͌ ̡͗.̧̛̣̳͈͍̽̓̋=͙̰̙̳̽̈̇ ̝͕͡͡.͈͒̋͢ ̟̜͉̜͛͗͛*̮͓͑̊.̻͞ ͙̞̜̲͑̏͊͝.̧̠̩̟̆̎̄͑ ̧̼̭̪̑͂̎͢͞͞.͚̉.̯̩̜̍͠͠.̛̰͎͈͆͑.͕.̧̨̻͒̍̒'̺͓̗̙̣͐̉͌͑̕"̯̤̆̀;͕͊̚͢..̹̣̟̫̥̾̄͐̓͞ ͚̹̿͛..͎̖͚̮͗͛́̔.͔͋̎͢*̩͜~̻̦̮̮̇̂̓͠.̘̣͕̝͆̌͋̃̏͟.̨͖̤̩̤͑̑͡͡.̧̢̛͓̘̝͊͛̌́ .̨.̮͘}{̲̬̑̋"͈̞̦̎̓͘͘͜?̨͖͔̉͒̉>̺̏.̯̙͔̩̻͐͑̀̀̀ ̢̩͛͞.̲̹̃̚.͔̻̇̚}̮̠̯̘̓̿̍̕ ḫ̢̢̮̰̪͕̰̙̞̓̊̍̏̾͐̋̃̏͘͢͢͡͡ȇ͈̤̠̠̦̟̣̣̻̣̭̞̫̪̬̳̇̍̾̊̈͑̿̾̔͛̿͊̊͘͞'̛͍̤̘͚̯̋͑̂̕͘ͅs̘̯̭̻̥̥̳̜̟͖̦̅̎̔͌͒̑̅̅̓̽͡ͅ ͕̰̥̬͈͇͓̤̬̦̆͂̌̒͛̊͗͒͒̚̚͟j̨̫͉̠̺̖̙͙͉͔̲͑̽͂̑̾̑̉͐̓̓̕͜ų̛̱͉̪̺̖̝͔̯̦͙̅̆̓̌̊̅̅̉̂̚͢s̨̡̬̬̖͖͙͚̾̍̈́̏͂̂͘̚͟͞ţ̢̥̪̩̠͓̬̰̐͊̈̊̄͛̏̀̃ ͎̻͈͓̦̞̠̪̗̥̈̒̂̈́̔͋̌͘̚͠a͙̠̠͍̦̭̦͂̌͛͑͗̇͝͠ͅ ̨̡̥̭̝̹̟̺̈́͗͛͂̆͗̅̓ͅk͇͔͙̞̲̣̎̎͆̄͠í̡̧̛̩̹͇͍̹̣̯͆̾̒̄̃̕̕͞ͅḑ̤̩̮͓̤̣̹̪̙̦͈̓̎̒̃̈̓̃̇͗̂̚͟͟͡͡*̱̺̈͂.̧̰̍̄͢ ̧̪̞̯̝̤͐̓̂͒̋̍.̬̮̂͗ .͉̦͊͆̒ͅ.̧͇͔̩̭̑͌̃̎.̙̪͈̼̳̭̬͕͔̈͌͒̄̈́͐͂̎̊̕͢.͇͔͖̯̺̮͆̍͛̒͝*͓͇̫̗̅̐̚͠~̛̥̗̬̓̽.̛͖͓͎͔̻̤̹̪̑͛͑̔̀͒͘͢.̠̱̬̜͕̻̭̓͂͗͑́̃͘ͅ.̧̰̣͇̩̩̳̟̯̪̯̈̑͌̆̎͛̿̔̃͊͞.̞̘̩͋͊͞~̡͠ ͉̫̮̖̹̼͓̇̄̽͗͋̒.̢̢͔̪̟̙͇͔̪͉͎̖͂͒̄̒̐͊̿̍̔̋.̤͉̠͓͊́͗̇̊̆͟͜ ̹̣̍̎.̡̲̌͠=.̛̛̮̥̻̦̺̔̌̓̚͜.̛̛̩͖͚͖͉̣̝͉̤̮̰̹̒̉̍͒̎͋̄̿͘-̢̬͓̜̬͓̲͖̄̂͋͊̏̊͊͝.̞̙̗̘̭͖̖̒͊̽͐͊̕͡.̜̪̮̜̅͒̏=̢̩͎̖̻̦̆̊͂-̨̨̭̟̖͎͔̪̗̣̄̐̐̾͛̿̎̕͠͞.̳̗̦̭͙̪̺̀̓͊̀̅͘͠,̙̬̣̮̙̓́̃̄̾̚͟.̜̰͖̞͍̠̥̥͎͐̔̾̌̆̂̔͘͝,̙͇͚̬̳̱̫̃͋̈͐̿̋͡-̨̡̩̖̯̗̥͊̒̾͑̓͌͑͟͡.̨̧̥̝̥͇͚̿̅̓͋̊͗̕͜͞.̥͍͆̈.̮̼̟͒̃̾̚ͅ"̢͇͚̭̝͔̱̦̄̉̓̾̋͠[͕̂]̘͐.̢̢̪͎͔̮̱͔͔̘̱͛̎̄͂̽̽͡͝͞͝.̪̖̘̂̓]̧̬̪̮͎̖̣̏̉̾͑͂͂̓;̦̩̠̝̣̘̅͊͒̈́͡.͉̑.̛̤̥̟̟̳̯̦̓͊̒̊̀̚.̡̻̮̥͓̭͖͙̍͛́̆̈́̕͘̕͢.̬̫̖̼̳̥̈͒̅͝͝͡.̯͇͎̬̏̎̑͝.̡̦̑͠'̡̿"̧̙̖̮̲̣͆̾̑̉͗͞î̗̟̯͙̪͎̰͖͛̒̌͋̚̚͝ ̢̡̛̛̦͍͚̯͓͍͇̣̝͒͛͒̿̔͛̉̈̍͘͟͢c̡̩͙͇̜̖̱̯͔̞̦̃͊͌͛̑̑͌̆̔͋̕̕͟ͅan͙͎̿͐́͢'̡̬̬̟͓̉̌̐̌̇͞ͅt̢̢̧̨̩̣̥̒̒͒̌̑͝ ̼͚̱̃͋̌͟d̢̛̩̖͉̲͙̠͚̪͔͑̅̑̉̈̃̉̔̚ͅo̹̠͂͂ ̺̖̞͎͓͓̠̺̎̉̇̓͐̉̈̑͟͠t̰͉̂͆h̨̧͕̱͖͇̬̳̙̒̎́̋̿̿̅͜͞͝i̢̛͈̪̗͎̤̠̘̲̬̰͛̓͋̓̂̂̓̂̇̽̽͟s̡̡̻͙͕͎̭̲̖͙̊̓̾͐̿͂̒͂̊̽͜͡ ̢̐t̤̩̫̼̘̣̫̳͚̏͌̂͂͗̄̋̔̕ͅõ͙̱̝̙̠͒͛̑͊̒͜ ̛̞̥̣͇̔̔͑ť̨̘̩̠̟̦͙̯͌͑̅͛̈́͋h̰̤̹͐͑͑͠ͅę̙̯̟̭̖̬̜́̀̊͗̓̓͗͘m̛̗̼͖̥͍̳͚͎͙̫̑̾͊̿͐̈̃͠;̰̣̀̎.̧̭̓͒.͍̲͎̌͐̚͢͠ ̢̇͌ͅ.̢̫̱̼̲͓͋̈́͗̐͋̒͢=̟̻̘̜̰͙͎͌͗̓͊̓͊ ̤͔̞͛͗̃.̯̠̘̠͈̮̹͖̟̪̝͗͛͒͋͒̉̔̋͂̌͋͟͢͜͝͞͞ ͔͈̞̙͓̘͉͚̊̋͂̂͆̉͛͌͘͢*̲̭͙̥̀͐͠͠.̗̤̜̗̈̓̌̽ ̦̣̪̳̖͍̠̱̀͛͌͐̓̈́͘͢͠͡.̡̯̙̫̤̊̃̇̈́͝

̟͓̜͌͂̆̊͟.͇̥̲̘̝͍͎̿͗̿̔̂̚͠.̛͈̠̩̩̼̭̙̠̈́̃͐̑̾͗̏̅͢.̛̮̜̤̓͛.̧͇͚̩̠͚͇̩͍͙͚͖̈́̄̉͂͑̐̾̊̀͝͞*̫̙̿͛̎͢~̦̱̜͉̪̟͖͇̳̰̋̈̊̿̑̈͗̿͌̚͠ͅ.̛̰̯̯͓̬̣̹̘̓͑̒̊̽̉̊͡ͅ.͙̬̳͎͖̮̙̈́̈́̎͆̽̈̈̎͢͟.̢̨̼͚͖͍͍̳͗͐́͋̒͊͞͠͡ͅ.̧͉̘͕̭̤̪͇̞͑̇̅͒̀̒̑̂͠~̺̟̙͙̺̭̺̜̅͆̂̄̾̕͞͝ͅ ͈̻͓̺̞͔̗̞͌̔̓͒͆̀͂͡ͅ.̺͙̝͙̞͖̹͚̖̄̂̂̅̐͘͡͞.̡͔̬͕͚͊͋̾̅͠ ̖͖̳̈́͆͡.̘̺̞͚͇̱̃́̽̌̂̊=̨͎̬̥̪̹͚͈͛̂͊́̃̾͊͠.̧̧̡̗͈̲̭̝͎̘̋͋̎͑̇̂̍͆͑͘.̛̫̩̗͙̪̥̖̲͓̘̂̋̒͛̎̈́́͗͜͠-̢͙̌̚.̥̗̦̣̄́͑̄͜͝.̢̨̭̤̮͇͕̖̝̿̎̽́͋͊͋͡=̨̻̜̬̗̊̽̂̓̇̆ͅ-̬̯̌̔.̼̼͈̿̇̕,.̯̣̟̝̪̘̀̅̈́͆̚͞,̨̮̭̩̩̠͂̌̏̌̈́͘̕͢-̲͇̻̙̤͓̰̘͊̂̇̇̀͒̚͞.̰͙̘̝̆̏̐.͈̹̰̻̮̙͋̒͑͐͌̑͢.̦͝"[̧̧̹͉̤͇̇̋͂̽͌͟]̗̺̖̩̻̘̠̏̐̔̅̓̒͘.̣̥̭͊̊͞.̼̰̚͞]̧̲͚͕̤̗̪̦͆͌̈́̈́̈͘͞;̧̤̘͈̪̮̹̂̿̐̀̌̊̌̚͢.̧̢͈̼͖̺̦͉̫̩͗̈́̍̄̾̃͒̊̚.̧̜̳̗̮͙̞̆͑̓̐̓͋͡.̛͈̩̲̫̝͇͍͓̌̓͛̐̎̂̒̄͟ͅ.̞̫̻̗̤͈̰̝̆͒̃̾̊͐͠.̨̜̙̦̙̒̐͌͛̂̚͟͟͝.̧̛̛̤̘̣̪͕̟̪̰́͛̈́̇͗͗̚͘͢'̬̩̼̑̋̊"̖͔̮̪̅̆̿̕;̧̡̞̼̬͕̖̓̇͛͋̍͗̉͛͜.̜̪͙̭̇̾́̚.͕͕̜͖̻̜͖̃̅̉́̑̄̈̋͢͢ ̱̒.̡̜͆̕=̮̖̲͑̃͠ .̗̥̝͈̼̭͂͗͛̊̆̊ ̲̰̤̘̞̺̃̓̍͑͆̾̅͞ͅͅ*̜̤̪̪̯̻͖̤̹͖̃̉̍̈́͆́̈̾̽͐͜͞.̢̳̭̣̖̌͒͘ ̣̲̪̘͔̺͚͇̓͒̋̆̌̀̾̕.̨̢̛̻͚͉͌̄̆ ̡͕̟͖̞͈̿͑̄͝͞.̧̧̛̯͚̲̬̗͉̭̈́̏̅̅͌̇̊͒͠ͅ.̝̮̘̣͇̻̜̽̊̑̓͐̚͢͞ͅ.̨̯̱̠̙̪̝̉͗̿͐̎̕͠.̨̛̘̰̜̪̻͈͖͉̗̊͗̀̅̓͒̔͘͠*̻̌~̱̝̄͞.̮̭̙̍̈̚.̡̝̩͓̗͚̙̮̣̱̘̥͛̈̆̈́̾̉̀̅̋̂̚͜͝.̭̟͒̐.̧̭͈̬̩̩̮̞͗̓̒̌́͂͆͑̈̅͟͟~̧̘̗͔̟̀̉̏̀̋͡ͅ ͙̻͎͐̃͘.̭̩̦̺͇͙̘̥̤̅̓̾͋͆̈̎͘̕͝ͅ.̢̪̄͡ ̱̻̄̎͒͜.̨͎͔̞͙͙̣͋̈̏͑͘͡͠ͅ=̫͡.̧̢̻̩̫͍̈̈́̂͘̕͜͞.̯̻͉̾͋̎-͙̯̤̤̠͖̙̤̤͓̹̬̳̄̓͌̌́̋̇̔͂͋̽͘̕.͔̃.̢̛̠̲͔̲̬̇̍̋͑̆=̗͌-̧͕̮̩̜̯̈́͆́̋̇͡.̨̬̪̹̮̜̏́̋͂̾͝,̡̜̩͎̮̑͋͑͒̈.̺̳̣̺̙̜̩͚͉̝̂̑͒͋͑͊̍̋͠,̡̧̱͚̺͎͍̙̀̏͑̌̕̕-̳̲̯͓͚̪̦͔̜͓̿̽̎̈̌͌̍̋͗̀͘͟.̺.̖͙̚͘.̨̢͎̣̰͔̼͙͎̪̓̄̾͂̆͒̓͌͛̓̓̍͜͢"͔̎.̱̋.͈̖̘̺͉͍̭̌̿͒̽͋͘͠]̧̩̎͠;̥̙̘̤͉̳̼͑̏͋̽̓͆̊͒͢͡ͅ.̡̰̮̦̙̦̳̣̐͐̒͂̈͌̅̏.̭̮̳͈̉̽̾̃.̨̟̙̖͉͈̏̈́̈́͛̎͢͠.̜͙͊͛͑͢.͖̈́͜͠.̧̡̮̘͎̗͙̭̯̭̱̄̄̽̋͋͊͆̒̂̍̕'͑͢"̜͇͚͎̪͌͐̐̕̚;̙̏.͉̐.̛̭͕͖̦͚̤̺̐̆͆̑̀͘̚ͅ ͇̲̘̼͊̊̓̄͘͟.̮͇̞̹̙̯̦̈́̏̉̎͆̽̄=̮̯̫̙̟̔͑̉̆̓̚͜ ͎̮͍̝̘̲̊̃̿̔̋̔͟͞.̧̛̪̗͓̼͔̮͎͉̰͎͆̏͂̊̊̽̔̈́̕͡͠ͅ ̭͈̞̳̟̳̘̮̋͊̍͑͗͐̌͞*͙̫̃̽͟͞.̪̈́ ̌͟.̢̧̡̖̱͕͉̠̞͑̌̉̿͒̎̉̾͛ ̛̥͖͔̗̫̖͚̺̦̒̏̀̽̐͊͠.͓̠͚̤͍̦̮̙͂͋͊̽͑̿̐͛͌͢͢͝.̢̬͙͉̗̗̗̄͑̊͊͛̿̒͟͠.̧̨͓̬̝́̏̓̓͌.̠̥̤̠̌̇̚͘*̡̛̞͔̙͇̑̅͆̂~̫͇̬̂́̚.̨̠͉̩̣͋͐̎̌͠{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢{̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝ .̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́-ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́..~̝̼̳̃̏̉ ͓̈.̘͙̙̇͛̉.͔̙̐͝ ̡͓͈̩̊̂͆͋̈́͜.̩̄=̧͖͋͐͢͡.͙͓̘͇͔̊̓͐̒͞.͈͗-̢̭͛.̩͎͙̌̎̽͘͜.̼̺̎̀=͎̂-̯͇̓̔.̡̋,̦͇͖̇͐͘.̳͋͡ͅ,̢̝̑̕-̡̬̳̅̊̾.̳̺̦̣̃̓̎̕.̡̳̗̄̓͛͢͠.̼̬̈̕͜"̞̥̄͂̈́ͅ[͇͘]̦̘͊̒.̖̭̺̝̄̆̉̐.͈̽͝ͅ]̩̑;̝̦̏̾.̠͂.̙̞̫͆̑͋̈́ͅ.̰͉͖͗̒̿h̘̜̖͋̍͌.̯̰̭̈́̔͌e̗͡.͎̤̳̊̍͝.̲̭̲̾̏͝'̤͙̈̌ï͍̱̫͊̋s̞̹̼͈̅͗͐͋̅ͅ ̫̋j̧̛͚̙̰͌̾̕û̧͍̤̅͞ṡ͙̹̜̆́͟͠"̬͖̰͂̔͡;͓̬̩͕͆́̑͞t̫̪̙̓́̈.̻͋.̞̫͋͝a͎͉̅̉̕͢ ͔̫̍̎k͕͕̃͋͜͠ͅi̘͔̲̪̔̀̿̍d͈͆>̗͖̄͛̔͢<̘̣̾̈́?̰̋̌͟"͓͠/̞̪̖̩̉̒͑̚;͔̖̼͚͐̐͂̍'̲̿/̤̓.̘̲͉͋̾͒,̝̦͊̑..;̘̮̘͔̓̂͌̎>̻͚͚͈̓͊͋̏<̜̟̰͊͋̂͢<̼̉.̜̃~͙̆`̨̼̔̎̽ͅ~̖̙̼̿̚͝î̗̟̯͙̪͎̰͖͛̒̌͋̚̚͝ ̢̡̛̛̦͍͚̯͓͍͇̣̝͒͛͒̿̔͛̉̈̍͘͟͢c̡̩͙͇̜̖̱̯͔̞̦̃͊͌͛̑̑͌̆̔͋̕̕͟ͅan͙͎̿͐́͢'̡̬̬̟͓̉̌̐̌̇͞ͅt̢̢̧̨̩̣̥̒̒͒̌̑͝ ̼͚̱̃͋̌͟d̢̛̩̖͉̲͙̠͚̪͔͑̅̑̉̈̃̉̔̚ͅo̹̠͂͂ ̺̖̞͎͓͓̠̺̎̉̇̓͐̉̈̑͟͠t̰͉̂͆h̨̧͕̱͖͇̬̳̙̒̎́̋̿̿̅͜͞͝i̢̛͈̪̗͎̤̠̘̲̬̰͛̓͋̓̂̂̓̂̇̽̽͟s̡̡̻͙͕͎̭̲̖͙̊̓̾͐̿͂̒͂̊̽͜͡ ̢̐t̤̩̫̼̘̣̫̳͚̏͌̂͂͗̄̋̔̕ͅõ͙̱̝̙̠͒͛̑͊̒͜ ̛̞̥̣͇̔̔͑ť̨̘̩̠̟̦͙̯͌͑̅͛̈́͋h̰̤̹͐͑͑͠ͅę̙̯̟̭̖̬̜́̀̊͗̓̓͗͘m̛̗̼͖̥͍̳͚͎͙̫̑̾͊̿͐̈̃͠`̹̍``̨̛͎͒=-̪̩͖̪̄̈͊̚̕ͅ+͚̦̭̅̍͝_͓͉̘͕̆͌̕̕]̨̹̹̫̯̑́͑̆͘\͍͈̻͐̓;͚̾'̼͞ ̲̰̙͕͉͛̄͌̕͝.̡̠͒̆=̞̮̳̒̈̃͢͡ ͚̜̏̄͘͢.̫͎̳͒́͌ ̜̀*̢͔͓͗̚͘.͙͑ ̉͟.͉̘̒͆͑ͅ ̡̲͈̪̘̀̅̒.̥̗̜̑̈́̏.̣̅..͊͟*̛̦͈̦͚̻̔͐͗̽~͙͠.̨̜̼̭̺̅̃͛̾͛.̢̧̓͌͘͟..̼̘͓͚̝̊̀̆̕̕~̧̛̼̺̺͇̄͐͗̂ ̨̤͈̻͖̾̌͆̊̎.̦́.̧͈̙̑̏͡ͅ ̧̜͚̝̓̓̏̌ {̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚

>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ *̱̺̈͂.̧̰̍̄͢ ̧̪̞̯̝̤͐̓̂͒̋̍.̬̮̂͗ .͉̦͊͆̒ͅ.̧͇͔̩̭̑͌̃̎.̙̪͈̼̳̭̬͕͔̈͌͒̄̈́͐͂̎̊̕͢.͇͔͖̯̺̮͆̍͛̒͝*͓͇̫̗̅̐̚͠~̛̥̗̬̓̽.̛͖͓͎͔̻̤̹̪̑͛͑̔̀͒͘͢.̠̱̬̜͕̻̭̓͂͗͑́̃͘ͅ.̧̰̣͇̩̩̳̟̯̪̯̈̑͌̆̎͛̿̔̃͊͞.̞̘̩͋͊͞~̡͠ ͉̫̮̖̹̼͓̇̄̽͗͋̒.̢̢͔̪̟̙͇͔̪͉͎̖͂͒̄̒̐͊̿̍̔̋.̤͉̠͓͊́͗̇̊̆͟͜ ̹̣̍̎.̡̲̌͠=.̛̛̮̥̻̦̺̔̌̓̚͜.̛̛̩͖͚͖͉̣̝͉̤̮̰̹̒̉̍͒̎͋̄̿͘-̢̬͓̜̬͓̲͖̄̂͋͊̏̊͊͝.̞̙̗̘̭͖̖̒͊̽͐͊̕͡.̜̪̮̜̅͒̏=̢̩͎̖̻̦̆̊͂-̨̨̭̟̖͎͔̪̗̣̄̐̐̾͛̿̎̕͠͞.̳̗̦̭͙̪̺̀̓͊̀̅͘͠,̙̬̣̮̙̓́̃̄̾̚͟.̜̰͖̞͍̠̥̥͎͐̔̾̌̆̂̔͘͝,̙͇͚̬̳̱̫̃͋̈͐̿̋͡-̨̡̩̖̯̗̥͊̒̾͑̓͌͑͟͡.̨̧̥̝̥͇͚̿̅̓͋̊͗̕͜͞.̥͍͆̈ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t.̮̼̟͒̃̾̚ͅ"̢͇͚̭̝͔̱̦̄̉̓̾̋͠[͕̂]̘͐.̢̢̪͎͔̮̱͔͔̘̱͛̎̄͂̽̽͡͝͞͝.̪̖̘̂̓]̧̬̪̮͎̖̣̏̉̾͑͂͂̓;̦̩̠̝̣̘̅͊͒̈́͡.͉̑.̛̤̥̟̟̳̯̦̓͊̒̊̀̚.̡̻̮̥͓̭͖͙̍͛́̆̈́̕͘̕͢.̬̫̖̼̳̥̈͒̅͝͝͡.̯͇͎̬̏̎̑͝.̡̦̑͠'̡̿"̧̙̖̮̲̣͆̾̑̉͗͞;̰̣̀̎.̧̭̓͒.͍̲͎̌͐̚͢͠ ̢̇͌ͅ.̢̫̱̼̲͓͋̈́͗̐͋̒͢=̟̻̘̜̰͙͎͌͗̓͊̓͊ ̤͔̞͛͗̃.̯̠̘̠͈̮̹͖̟̪̝͗͛͒͋͒̉̔̋͂̌͋͟͢͜͝͞͞ ͔͈̞̙͓̘͉͚̊̋͂̂͆̉͛͌͘͢*̲̭͙̥̀͐͠͠.̗̤̜̗̈̓̌̽ ̦̣̪̳̖͍̠̱̀͛͌͐̓̈́͘͢͠͡.̡̯̙̫̤̊̃̇̈́͝ ̟͓̜͌͂̆̊͟.͇̥̲̘̝͍͎̿͗̿̔̂̚͠.̛͈̠̩̩̼̭̙̠̈́̃͐̑̾͗̏̅͢.̛̮̜̤̓͛.̧͇͚̩̠͚͇̩͍͙͚͖̈́̄̉͂͑̐̾̊̀͝͞*̫̙̿͛̎͢~̦̱̜͉̪̟͖͇̳̰̋̈̊̿̑̈͗̿͌̚͠ͅ.̛̰̯̯͓̬̣̹̘̓͑̒̊̽̉̊͡ͅ.͙̬̳͎͖̮̙̈́̈́̎͆̽̈̈̎͢͟.̢̨̼͚͖͍͍̳͗͐́͋̒͊͞͠͡ͅ.̧͉̘͕̭̤̪͇̞͑̇̅͒̀̒̑̂͠~̺̟̙͙̺̭̺̜̅͆̂̄̾̕͞͝ͅ ͈̻͓̺̞͔̗̞͌̔̓͒͆̀͂͡ͅ.̺͙̝͙̞͖̹͚̖̄̂̂̅̐͘͡͞.̡͔̬͕͚͊͋̾̅͠ ̖͖̳̈́͆͡.̘̺̞͚͇̱̃́̽̌̂̊=̨͎̬̥̪̹͚͈͛̂͊́̃̾͊͠.̧̧̡̗͈̲̭̝͎̘̋͋̎͑̇̂̍͆͑͘.̛̫̩̗͙̪̥̖̲͓̘̂̋̒͛̎̈́́͗͜͠-̢͙̌̚.̥̗̦̣̄́͑̄͜͝.̢̨̭̤̮͇͕̖̝̿̎̽́͋͊͋͡=̨̻̜̬̗̊̽̂̓̇̆ͅ-̬̯̌̔.̼̼͈̿̇̕,.̯̣̟̝̪̘̀̅̈́͆̚͞,̨̮̭̩̩̠͂̌̏̌̈́͘̕͢-̲͇̻̙̤͓̰̘͊̂̇̇̀͒̚͞.̰͙̘̝̆̏̐.͈̹̰̻̮̙͋̒͑͐͌̑͢.̦͝"[̧̧̹͉̤͇̇̋͂̽͌͟]̗̺̖̩̻̘̠̏̐̔̅̓̒͘.̣̥̭͊̊͞.̼̰̚͞]̧̲͚͕̤̗̪̦͆͌̈́̈́̈͘͞;̧̤̘͈̪̮̹̂̿̐̀̌̊̌̚͢.̧̢͈̼͖̺̦͉̫̩͗̈́̍̄̾̃͒̊̚.̧̜̳̗̮͙̞̆͑̓̐̓͋͡.̛͈̩̲̫̝͇͍͓̌̓͛̐̎̂̒̄͟ͅ.̞̫̻̗̤͈̰̝̆͒̃̾̊͐͠.̨̜̙̦̙̒̐͌͛̂̚͟͟͝.̧̛̛̤̘̣̪͕̟̪̰́͛̈́̇͗͗̚͘͢'̬̩̼̑̋̊"̖͔̮̪̅̆̿̕;̧̡̞̼̬͕̖̓̇͛͋̍͗̉͛͜.̜̪͙̭̇̾́̚.͕͕̜͖̻̜͖̃̅̉́̑̄̈̋͢͢ ̱̒.̡̜͆̕=̮̖̲͑̃͠ .̗̥̝͈̼̭͂͗͛̊̆̊ ̲̰̤̘̞̺̃̓̍͑͆̾̅͞ͅͅ*̜̤̪̪̯̻͖̤̹͖̃̉̍̈́͆́̈̾̽͐͜͞.̢̳̭̣̖̌͒͘ ̣̲̪̘͔̺͚͇̓͒̋̆̌̀̾̕.̨̢̛̻͚͉͌̄̆ ̡͕̟͖̞͈̿͑̄͝͞.̧̧̛̯͚̲̬̗͉̭̈́̏̅̅͌̇̊͒͠ͅ.̝̮̘̣͇̻̜̽̊̑̓͐̚͢͞ͅ.̨̯̱̠̙̪̝̉͗̿͐̎̕͠.̨̛̘̰̜̪̻͈͖͉̗̊͗̀̅̓͒̔͘͠*̻̌~̱̝̄͞.̮̭̙̍̈̚.̡̝̩͓̗͚̙̮̣̱̘̥͛̈̆̈́̾̉̀̅̋̂̚͜͝.̭̟͒̐.̧̭͈̬̩̩̮̞͗̓̒̌́͂͆͑̈̅͟͟~̧̘̗͔̟̀̉̏̀̋͡ͅ ͙̻͎͐̃͘.̭̩̦̺͇͙̘̥̤̅̓̾͋͆̈̎͘̕͝ͅ.̢̪̄͡ ̱̻̄̎͒͜.̨͎͔̞͙͙̣͋̈̏͑͘͡͠ͅ=̫͡.̧̢̻̩̫͍̈̈́̂͘̕͜͞.̯̻͉̾͋̎-͙̯̤̤̠͖̙̤̤͓̹̬̳̄̓͌̌́̋̇̔͂͋̽͘̕.͔̃.̢̛̠̲͔̲̬̇̍̋͑̆=̗͌-̧͕̮̩̜̯̈́͆́̋̇͡.̨̬̪̹̮̜̏́̋͂̾͝,̡̜̩͎̮̑͋͑͒̈.̺̳̣̺̙̜̩͚͉̝̂̑͒͋͑͊̍̋͠,̡̧̱͚̺͎͍̙̀̏͑̌̕̕-̳̲̯͓͚̪̦͔̜͓̿̽̎̈̌͌̍̋͗̀͘͟.̺.̖͙̚͘.̨̢͎̣̰͔̼͙͎̪̓̄̾͂̆͒̓͌͛̓̓̍͜͢"͔̎.̱̋.͈̖̘̺͉͍̭̌̿͒̽͋͘͠]̧̩̎͠;̥̙̘̤͉̳̼͑̏͋̽̓͆̊͒͢͡ͅ.̡̰̮̦̙̦̳̣̐͐̒͂̈͌̅̏.̭̮̳͈̉̽̾̃.̨̟̙̖͉͈̏̈́̈́͛̎͢͠.̜͙͊͛͑͢.͖̈́͜͠.̧̡̮̘͎̗͙̭̯̭̱̄̄̽̋͋͊͆̒̂̍̕'͑͢"̜͇͚͎̪͌͐̐̕̚;̙̏.͉̐.̛̭͕͖̦͚̤̺̐̆͆̑̀͘̚ͅ ͇̲̘̼͊̊̓̄͘͟.̮͇̞̹̙̯̦̈́̏̉̎͆̽̄=̮̯̫̙̟̔͑̉̆̓̚͜ ͎̮͍̝̘̲̊̃̿̔̋̔͟͞.̧̛̪̗͓̼͔̮͎͉̰͎͆̏͂̊̊̽̔̈́̕͡͠ͅ ̭͈̞̳̟̳̘̮̋͊̍͑͗͐̌͞*͙̫̃̽͟͞.̪̈́ ̌͟.̢̧̡̖̱͕͉̠̞͑̌̉̿͒̎̉̾͛ ̛̥͖͔̗̫̖͚̺̦̒̏̀̽̐͊͠.͓̠͚̤͍̦̮̙͂͋͊̽͑̿̐͛͌͢͢͝.̢̬͙͉̗̗̗̄͑̊͊͛̿̒͟͠.̧̨͓̬̝́̏̓̓͌.̠̥̤̠̌̇̚͘*̡̛̞͔̙͇̑̅͆̂~̫͇̬̂́̚.̨̠͉̩̣̘̜͋͐̎̌̇̕͠.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́.̭͂=̰̱̏̔.͓̹͚͐̔̋͘͟.̡̪͗̎̅͜ţ͔̭̲̫̗͖̼̻͐́̍̎͒͌̂͝͝ḩ̻̝̤̥͖̱̜̹̗͈̫̏̓̉͐̈͊̈̇̽͋͑͌͊͜͝ͅi̦̟͖͓̜̣̪̪͑̅̈́̎̏͛̇̃̆͒͢͢͡ͅs̨̟̹̤̥̰̲̼̯̹̖̮̻̈́̎͂̆̏͐̅͗̂͛̂͆̚͢͠ ̧͓̯̣͍̂͛̉̌̅ḯ̼͕̝̦͙̩̑̓̐̿́s̠̎n̖̔'͉̖̱̦͇̙̹̝͑̅͋̿͆̌̐̍ť̡̪̠̯̭̼̥̜͙̥̘̮̄͌͋͊͋̓̃̋̓̀͠ ̡͖̪̖̳̝͓͓͕͉͕̖̰̞̔̈́̓͂̈́̀̌͋̅͒̃̐͆͠ŗ̨̣̦͉̝̝͔͙̜͔̲͔̳͋̍̎̀̓͗͋͌̓̈́̍͂̌̚ͅi̻͗g͖͕̲̣̈́̉͡h̻̺͗̓̕͢t-̫͔̙̹̀̿͑̚.̮͚͕͂̄̾.=͈͝-̡̀.̝̝̾̓,̡̜͈̥̋̽̀̉.̡̛̬͔̳̝̽͂̄̓,̘͓͒̕-̢͈͂͆..̣̤̗̓̑.̞͉̜̈̍͗"̘̯̂̊.͍͎͖̌̓̽͒ͅ.̭̦͖̐́͂];̣̍.͕̹͔̝̃͗̏̕.͇̞̭̈́̀͛.̨̮͛̕.͈̑̀͜.͖̟̽̌̚͢.̻̃'̠̓"̥̋;͚͔̞̋̉͘͘ͅ.̫̮̭̯̽̒͗̓.̯͇̼̑̉̎͢ ̫̝͆̓.̩͖̈́=͚̃ ̯̅.̧̺̆͝ ͚͓̒͡*̹͗.̼̠̫͊͌́ ͓͍̘̪̔̓͞.͎͉̗̔̏̎̾͜ ̢̍.̢̪̥̩͑͂̎͠.̦̹͍̭̂̒̇͗͂͜.͇̞͗̆.*̘̙̇͆͌͟͟͞~̥̪̤̍̽͜.̞͎͡͡.̰̌͜.̳̇.̣̔̚ͅ~͍͉͐̓͢͠ .̫.̭͔͕̮̆́͋̎͢͠ ̪̖͖͖̓͆̍̓.͖̰̰͍̀͆̔̎̾͢=̠̰̫̰̏̏̑͋.̰͠.͎̤͙̔͠͝-̫̐͢.̰̝͚̈́̆̈͟͠.̡̱̮̦͊̍͊͡=͚͍̀̃̿͜-̨̡̒.̯̿,͔̞͌̅.̗͔̋̉,̘͂-̨͍̑̍.̰̖̣̘͑̏́͝.̨̜̀.̭͊"̙͉̰̄̍̍̽͢.̢̰̤͖̓͌̔͊..̜̭̟͂̔̓.̣͌.̖̆'̘̳͖͓̒͋́̔";̳̦͖͗̅͡.̛̩͕͓̬̍̕.̛̪̖͕͙̾̈́͘ ̢̙̥̄͜͡͡.̱͙͖͛̌͞=̭̳̄͗͑͟ ̨̱̙̫͎͒̿̾͡.͙͎͇̋͛̚͟͝ ̛̣̲͚̿̉͊͢*̱̱͍̾͐͘.̣͊ ̻̥̳̗̀͌̉̇.̢̖͖̓̅̋ ͇̐.̟͇̱̗̬̓̾̅̈͝.̺̽.̫͉̲̾͛͘.*̣?͎̝̻̆̓̂"̠̫̦͛̎̾:̨͙̰͍͊̂̇̌,̨̍>̫̻̽̈<͓͒̇͜?̬̌;̙̽~̠̍+͈͔̩̻̻̔̍̊̓̀_͎̇~̡̖̣͍̙̈́̂͝.̣̞̝̰͋͋̂͞..͈͕̝̬͌͑͆͌.͎̜̹̦̆̐̀̀~̘̲̯̠̂͛͌̎ ̬̟͔̺̠͂̑̊̉͊.̡̤̲̋͒̂.̻̓ ̛̗͊͜.͍̺̞̼͊̍̉̒͗͜=̙͖͓̖̐̆̿̽̚͢.̦͐.͍̾.̥̕-͖̺͎͚̆̊̄͘̕͢.͎̟̮̂͛̆,͍̬͇͋̚̕.͇̘̥͗̊͐͢,̢̭̉̑-̨̪̠̟̻̄̿͋̄͞.̙̤̆̀.̳͕̠̖͛̈̌.̮̯̽͒"]͇̣͇̂̾̐.͕̞̼̑̎̚.̦̥̹̙̮̃͑̔͞͡ḫ̢̢̮̰̪͕̰̙̞̓̊̍̏̾͐̋̃̏͘͢͢͡͡ȇ͈̤̠̠̦̟̣̣̻̣̭̞̫̪̬̳̇̍̾̊̈͑̿̾̔͛̿͊̊͘͞'̛͍̤̘͚̯̋͑̂̕͘ͅs̘̯̭̻̥̥̳̜̟͖̦̅̎̔͌͒̑̅̅̓̽͡ͅ ͕̰̥̬͈͇͓̤̬̦̆͂̌̒͛̊͗͒͒̚̚͟j̨̫͉̠̺̖̙͙͉͔̲͑̽͂̑̾̑̉͐̓̓̕͜ų̛̱͉̪̺̖̝͔̯̦͙̅̆̓̌̊̅̅̉̂̚͢s̨̡̬̬̖͖͙͚̾̍̈́̏͂̂͘̚͟͞ţ̢̥̪̩̠͓̬̰̐͊̈̊̄͛̏̀̃ ͎̻͈͓̦̞̠̪̗̥̈̒̂̈́̔͋̌͘̚͠a͙̠̠͍̦̭̦͂̌͛͑͗̇͝͠ͅ ̨̡̥̭̝̹̟̺̈́͗͛͂̆͗̅̓ͅk͇͔͙̞̲̣̎̎͆̄͠í̡̧̛̩̹͇͍̹̣̯͆̾̒̄̃̕̕͞ͅḑ̤̩̮͓̤̣̹̪̙̦͈̓̎̒̃̈̓̃̇͗̂̚͟͟͡͡]̹̩͙̘͐͛͠͡;̣̼̽̉̄͢.͈̗̫̂͛̕.̛̠̘̹̏͡.̲̜̇̂.̡̩̲̞̅͂̕.̧̳̬͇̹̽̓̆̌̈.͖̼͂̆'̨̹̽͐̕͢"̨̯̹̙̺̄͆̈̏̈́;̪̀͝ͅ.. ̡͔̘̚͠.̮̀̚ͅ=͓̉ ̝̑.̺̍ *͍̄.̱̭̣̟͖̔͂̏̀͘ ̏ͅ.̠̜̙̄̒̎()̞̱̆͞_̡̟̼̀̅͆"}̛̤̠̮̱̝̉̕͝͠{͙̓:̙͓͗͗̽̅͟ͅ>̳̭̖͎͊̃͞͡.̻͙͈̩̈́̾̃͋.̳͈̫̭͛̈́͞.͙̫͍͈̌͆̕͘.̡̢̤̤̻̏͆̓̍͘'̘͇̥̳̋͑̊͡";͓̚.̨̿.͕͞ ̨̦̍͛ ͖̒.͕̘̒̌.̨̘̝͙͍̋͒̊̓͝}̫̹̼̀̋̌{̤͕̦̑̌͆"̬̦͛̄?͚̱̠̓̍̊>̬͇̭͛͛̊͜͝<͕͓̓̾̚͢.̢͔̗͉̒̔͆͂.̜̳̃̕*͕̜̺͉̈͛̄̂~̟̰̔̆.̡̣̞͈̉̒͌.̊͜.̙͕̜̒̊̅͆ͅ.̜̈́~̰͒͟͠ ̘͡..̧̨͙̬̾͊̂͝ ̧̣̘͑̚.̺̜̞̩̿̅͆̈́=̣̱̫̏͘..̡̖̂͝-̩̩͒̽ͅ..̙͍̼̾̈̚=͚̽-.̬̯̼̃̓̈́,̩̏.̧͕̔̕,̮̇-̧̭̪͒̉̽͟͞.̛͇͙̪̾́..̱̖̺̣̓̆̇͛"̙̃[̙̝͈͋̈ ̼͔̜̹͆̌̓͞.̼͈͔͊̃͑.̪̙̲̽̈͝}{̼̃̓͟"͚̦̺̆̾͠?̣͒?>̮͕͎̞͓̳͈͈̬́̌̀̊͒̕͘͠͠;̡̨̤̥̣̜̖͖̟̗͖̏̉̇̇̒̏̾͌̊̕ͅ"̣̖̤̹̙̮̯̮̊͆̐̀̅̄̿͋̕͜>̗̯̠̘̬̗͂͂͗̋̑̀̚͜"̨̛͚͓̩̻̙̥͈͎̟̳̦̟̬̜͍͗͗̉̒͆͒̊̅̇̄̽̎͒̊̕̚͠ͅͅ{̻̖̬͍͉̩̪̲̘͚̙̆̍͐̌̓̀͒̈́͠͠{͍̦̥͆̕̚:̡̛͚̯̝͔͔̩̞͕̂͐͗́͌̉̌̓̕͟͝ͅ[̧̫̱͗̍͞{̨̡̛̫̣͓͔̦̩̰̠̣̥͚̙̖̓̓̏̊͑͂̿͊̆͑̏̾̆=̡̧̱̩̯̮̼͔͙̰̣̝̤̈́̀͌̌͐͛͋̄̈̈́͞͡-̮̉-̢̨̩̞͇̫͖̟̾͛̑͋̏̏̕̚ͅ_̛͔̯͈̣̳̻̤̘͇͆̽̐̎͂͒̓̓_̧̧̛͈̜̝̠̙͎͓̍̃̌̔̌́͘͞>̢̰͕̼̩̘̳̃̍̈͌̀̒̈́̕͟+̡̰͙͚̥̠̿̀̑̋̂̐͑ͅ_̻͚̺͇̈́̊̇~̡̛͈̘̫̬͈͓̞̣͈͈̹̝̮̟͔̠͈̋̑͊̆̎̅̋̔͌̓̾͑̑̈́͛̇́̔ͅ`̼̠̣͖̩̺̻͕̯̝̽̋̂́͂̇̀̓͂͂`̨̨̡̢̖͙̝̲̩̼̜̘̟̲̣̋̐͋̐͑͌͂̇̓̓̌̊̚͠`̛͓̞̲̬̫̪̦͓̹̣͉͖̞̜̋͊̌̍̑͒̃͒̿̿͌̌̆̍͌͟͜͢͡~̘͂'̨̢̛̭̥͈̤̯̟̬̫͚͈̣̩͙̄̂̒̐̈̓͋͗̏̊̅̋̍̕͡ͅ.̥̖̘̰̟͍̥͕̣̗̱͖̳̅̔̏̽̊̏̽̍͛̄̑͒̍̕͟.̛̺̤̦̔̿,̝̰͖̹̤̗̦̜̜̣̬͙͖̻̝͚̜̓̋̓͛́̐͗̓͗̂͊̃̌̓̈͢͠͠͞͞ͅ/̣͈̗̞̳̗̙̈́̇̂̔̄̓͌.̨̹͈͎̭̬̯̙̱̘̍͗͌̾̀̈͑̐͆̂͘͢͢͡,͚̇.̟̱̰̻̈́̋̍̂'̧̨̧̡̮̟͖̩͕̞̘̽͌̅͑̐̐͒̉͛̈́͐͊͢͡ͅ;̡̢͔̤̪̫̥̇͆̉̾̒̓̉̉͜[̨̧̳̣̟͔̬̗̱͊̿̐̓͒̀͂̿̕͢͜͠]̧̛̺͔̣͈͔͍͖̥̥̣̤͍̻̤͖̳̞̈̿̂̃͌̆͛͒̂͛̾̏̀͑͂̉̕͜͟͞.̧̢̧̛͕͓̻͎̲̭̦͙̳̞͈̗̀̅̆̍͒̓̍̈́̍͛̆̃͘͘~̫̞̦̲̭͚͈̙̞͖̺̝̘͂͑̿̾̒̏̐̂̊̏̈́͐͐͢~̛̛͕̯̗̪͚͍̟̂́̎̈̾~̧̧̼̘̪͎̳̭̰͇̱̜̭͔̐̔̋͗̂̈́̓̋̍̈́̑̓̃̇͘̕͢͟ͅ_̨̢̧̼̥̦̱͔̟̘̤͙̞͙̫͍͔͔̦̉̌͋͑̈́̔̏͑̊̂̓̇̀̈́́̈́̏͟͞͞+̨̨͉͍͕͙̝̖̣̮̹̥̱̔̍̓̎͒̂̍̆̔͒͗͘͟͢͞͝͝-̗̫̘̖̪͙͉̟̖̣̐̍͗̇͂̒̋̇͜͡͡͞)̨̧̡̛͚̻̟̰̰̩͔͉̞͓̺̣̦̒̋̑̋̉͒̎̓͒͒̓̊̄͘͠(͉͙̟͓̳͎͙̠̲̭͚͉̀̐̈̔͌͑̐̉̿̂̈̉͒͢*̨̛̮͈͔̪̭̦̝̟̠͈̃̓̋̓̄͑̓̾̓͡&̧̟̹̖̩͕̺̩̲̄̓͑́̔́̇̇͌͡ͅ/̡̧̩̺̭͇͉͎̟̯̖̇̏̔̓͆͐̇͗̏͛͛͛́̄͟͢͟.̳̫̭̻̮̗͉͍́͋̍͆̇̈'͍̰̗̻̼̜̦̻̜̮̝̠̟́͆̿̉̃̌́́̍̏̅͡

>̣͒]̹̽.̦̫͉̊̐͡.̲͑]͓͈̓̎;̰͡.̂͢.̰̟͓͋͂̎.̪̹̩͑̈́.͇͓̜̌̐͆͛͟.͍̞͑̃̌͢.̟̘̤̉̍̾'̧̛͉̩̋̓"̞͔͕̋͊;̧̟͌͡.̢̯̪͉͇͋̌̾̌͊.͈̏.̻͝.̳̓.̩̠̞̘̰̆͒̈́̀̚'̳̱̩͂̄̂̎͜"̞̙͊̈́;̢̒̔͢.̺͕͉͑̊͗̍͘͟͜.͚̹͌̿̔͟ ̢͔̊ {̞̑"̛̝̮̾?̻̩̳̉̈͞>̣͇̯͚͕̋̅̽̇͘~͎̞͙̟̍́̋͞ .̬͚͑͝.̲̮̪̲͎̈̒̾̅̏ ͛͢.̜̱̭́͂͘=̭͇̮̻̀͊̍͊͢͝.̮̋.̲̀̀ͅ-̫̲̯̲͐͂͊͘͘͢.̫̪̤͉̖͌̄̓̕.=-̱̀.̭̄,̥̝̙͋͞.̩͍̤̃͒̽,͕̖̇̓-̰͓̗̦̇̅̋̏.̹̎..̢̟̊̎"̹͌͆͟[̤̳̳̈́̒͞.̫̺̦̝͐̒̏̂.̘̋]̳́̐͟;͍̀.̨̧͇̊̓͌͟.̘̗̱̈́̏̅.͙͔͓͗̔͘.̲̬̤͆͊͠.͙̥̬͂̐͝.̧̱̮́͒̓̚ͅ'̡͖͍̰̝͂͂͒́́"̲̇;̭̔͌͢.̥̎ ͉̝͆͠.̘̌̕ͅ.̫͚̲̣̟͛̈͠}̪̣̤̣͐̊̉̕{͔̞͚̓̈́̕"͓͈̿̂?̻͇͔͉͒̇̍̚>.̘̻̿̒ͅ ̠͛. ̣͐ ̣̗̰̟͋̾̋.̥̹̲̄͝͡ ̺̥͒͘.̮͝=̢̪͉͐͂̕ ͙̩̬͚̞̆̓̉̆̅.̡͝ ̜͒*͉͒. ̏͟. ̢͕̝̣̈́̀̆.̪͙̣͗͋..̮́.̡̂̑ͅ*͝ͅ~̱͒.͈̇.̞͕̗̙̓̉̆͘.̲̦́̅̄ͅ.̨̖͇̑͗͢~͎͞ ̹͉͘͘.̻̀.̦̰͒͠ ̥̠̘̿̅̕.̢̀=̼͘.͙͍͉̅͝.͖̜͇̿̿̌͡ͅ-̧̘̠͊̿͞..̩̃=̛͉͚̑́͢-̺̙̆͝.̺̾,̯̘̑̅.̤͉̘̯̈́̀͊,̭̌̚͢-.̛̟͍̖̏̕.̖̘̭̐̋́.͓̓"̢̢͈͓̅̃̅̔[̝̱͙̇́]̫̎..͖̊̾͜]̫́;̟̦͚̓̈́̂.͕̪̆͞.̱̥̏̽.̯̑..̨̘̉̋.̬̘̇͡ͅ'͔̙͔̃̀͆"͇̻́;.̰̄̍͟. ̠͖͌̋.̰̹̗͔̓̓̏͞=̨͍̇͘ ̡͉̟̺̋͆̍͊.̡͕̺̱̐̿̉͗͌͟ ̧͇̜̦̊̑̽͂*͕̙̻̏̏͠.̹ .͚͇̙̌̓̔͢͠ ̘̜̇̕.̛̠̰̤̒͐̾͟.̦̲̻͌̾̿.͖̋.̫̞͚̂̒͒*̟̠́͝~̲̉͜͠..̧̫̳̋͆́.̤̻͇̰̎̈́̓̈́̈͟ ͓̹̱̀̽.̨̜̦̆̓̃́͗ͅͅ=̘̠̂̚ ̢̩͎̓̿̌.̱̺̍̿ ͈̆*.̨̡̇̾ ͈͖̲͛̋̄͘͜.̤̰̼͗͡͝ ̘̥̃̿.̛̗.̼̟̇̉.͉̻̠͐̒͒.͚̬̣̗̆̈̇̄*̺̻͓͋͑͐̒͜~̜̬͋̕.͖̬͕̰̽̾̒̅.͎͈͕̑̍̕.̻̹͈͒̃̕.̛̙̩͖̏͛~̨̻̊̋ ̛͕̘̗̞̖́̍͐͛.̰̰́̍.̪͛ ̥̹̟͛̆͘.͍̾=͙̼̞̽͒̚.͎̦̺̹͐̿̉͘.̨̯̣̟̼̅̆̈̈́̔-̨̡͚͛̄͡.̧͈̤̍͘͝,̣͚̑̎-̛̙̠̜͞͠.̡̮̬̣͊̕͠͞.̧̐.̨̛͓̗͇̎̆͠..̗̭̱̍̄̏̓͟]̯̣̱̅͌̉;͔͙͗͞.̠̜́̽̄ͅ.̹̻̋̒.̢̢̩̬͂́̇̒̓ͅ..̤.̱͌'̝̠͆̋͜͡"̢̫̩̳̇̓̍;̦͖̠͍̈̽̈́͒.̻̬̰̈̐͋ͅ.̡̧̢̙̘́̒͂̂̾ ̺̰̤̞̔̀͐͛.͍̉.}̨͡{̰̇"͈͒?̛͎̥͖̃̃>̥̪̇̂ ̼̼̪͚̖̃͐̃̽͊.͔̟̭̾̋̕=̭͛ ͇̹̰̺̐̐.̥̥̹̣͓̀̎͋͠ ̹̥̀͗͟͝*̺̠̩̾̂́.̦̦͛̎ ̧̖̺͑͗͋.̥̱͛͑ ̻̬̞̂̎̍͑̇͜ͅ.̛͙.̡̦̾̋̀̚͟ͅ.̱̞͎̱̎͗͌͡.͎͡.͇̼̉'̼̼͋̐"̟̄;.̻͙͎͊̌̇.̛͎͔̞̥̔͌ ̧͇̝̹̮̍̍̂̆̕.̱͍̊͆ͅ.̧̹̐͛.̟̲̋͠*͍̖̃̿~.̪̝̈̿́͢͢.̧̛̖̩̽̍̊͜.̲̹̭͉̥͑̓̔̄̿ ̧̨̱̇͡.̗̟̲̤̮̊̏͛̅̆.̪̉}̝̥̘̠̦͋̂̀̋͐{͍̪̂̊"͉̄?̧̂>̩͂.̡̩̝́̈̑ ͙͍̮͎̂͌͆̓.̠͑͘ͅ.̤̹͖̂͋͗}̡̜̪͑̽͘{̩̞̍̚͢"͔̯͍̑̄͠?͍͠>͎̥̄̈́~͈̫̎͟͝ ̍̉͢ͅ.̛̥͉̣͔̘́͒̿͂. ̢͔̼͙͇͒̀̽̒͒.͎͚̰̙̦̄̈́͛̌̈́=̢͉͛̑̅͟.̧̦̲̗̎̋̍͡.̨͇̦̥̄̅͒̆-̟̹̔̏͟.̦͖̃͘.͔̰͝=̤͙̒̚-̭̌.̣̙̏̏,̤̯̘̮͊̔̄̅.̹̆,͕͊-.̘̟͍̀͆͋̏͜͜͞.̬̮́̑.̢̩͗̚"̥͙̉͠[̠̰̳̩̅̆̆͛͢͞.̹͖͇͂͑͐.͙̿]͍̌;̢͕͇̈́̈́.̛͉͚̖͎̟͑̐̈̇.̤͎͉͈̑͐̔..̢̗̈̃.̤̪̜̭̇̋͗.̳̗͍̫̎̇̿͒'͚̍"̢͚̬͐̍̀̐ͅ;̖̈́.̗͖͙̦͒̉̈͘ ̣̬̮͈̿͗͐̕.̫̣̼̻̋͛̀̃.͉̬̳̅͒̑}̢̡̖͉̒͗̊̀{̠̭͞͠"̢̮͒̌?̱̥̓͂>̝̩͔̓͗͞ ͍̹̊̚.̜̰̇͊ ̲̰̙̃̒̀̕͢.͉͉̄͠.̖̰̝̙͓͊͌̔͐̈.̫̍.͈̿.̨̜̹͕̿͘̕͠'͇̽"̹͠;̞̩͕͆͑̎͜͡.͕̍.̭̰͕͙͕̎͂͒̇̚ .̡͕̳̳̋̓̽̈͌͜.͔̍.*̭̯̅~̮͖͎͛̎́.̧͚̊̐.̗̕.͚̙̯̐̾͠ ͈͉͑͊.̟̲̚͠.̬̼̝͊̂͊}͙̆{̨͔͓͌͝͝"̮̂?̝̚͟>͈̟̑͢͝͝.͙̱̬̓̿͞ ̳͠..̢̢͎̤̃̀͛̑}͕̉{͔͚̝͕͋̈́̐̅"̛͔͖̹̋̈́?͕͙͂̌>̧̳̫̫͉̓̎̋̇̅~̞̱̦̝̦͊̈́̓̂͘ ̩̈́.̲̽.͇̲̩̲̋̈̐̚ ̢̟̼̀͆̐.̻̙̖̒̊̂=͖̾͗͢.̢̱̌̈͜.̣͓͇̳͌̓̏͞-͔̆.̹͚̍̒.͉͛=̢̢͓̈́́͝-̬̪̻̄͑̌͢͟.̥̜̇̈́̍ͅ,̨̟̟͖̔̌͒͞.͕̊,̜͕͂͌-̡̪̉̕.̻͙͍͔̏̾̔̇.̩̐."͖̭͈̞̔̾̆̎[.̟̓̿͟.̧̖̮̙̩͂̽͗̍͡]̝͓̭͑̈́͐;̳̺͈͐̔̕.̻̰̭̉̎͋.̣͗.̩̟͖̏̈́͡.͓̅..̟̩̖̊͆͠'͚̞̯͊̇͂"̖͎̝̄̅͊;͍̦̱̺̮͛̇̎̃͞.̯̯͓̺̑̃͠͝ .̥̩͐͐.}͇̠̿i͖̲̼̭͊͊̉̇ ̩̓̑͛͟͜c̤̗͇̔̓͠a̳̤̾́n̰̪̅̏'͈͕̰̲̔̓̃̓ţ͓̣͕͎̌̊̂̽̚ ͍̞̘̈̎̎d̨̳̳̽̔̾o̝͍̘͓͑͐̏͛̕͜ ̣̭̻͙͊͑͛̈́t̰͞h̛̰̥͎̣̯̓͛̐͆i̤̹̿͛s̖̳͕̺͙̾̅̈̍͡ ̫̩̃̾ ͌͢{̨͔͌̏"̙̟̘̌̍?>̳͈́̌;̥̜͖̟̉̇̇"̹͆̀͜>̘̬̋̚"̛̟̳̬̉͆̇ͅ{͍̪̘̍͠{̥͆:̡̞͗́͟͝[̱͗{̡̦̠͚̓̊͂̿=̧̼̣̀̌͛--̫͖̟̾̑_̳̘̐͒_̠̙̍̃>̼̩̈̀+̡͚̀̋_͚~̣̹̟̠͊̎̔̓`̺̯̋͂`̼̜̘̲̋̐͂̚`̪̦̣͖̜̌͒͒̿̿~'̛̟̬͚̣͙̂̈͋͗.͍͕̣̱̳̽̽̍͛̕.̦̿,̣͙̝́̓͢͠͞/̞̳̇̂.̬̯̾͑͢͡,.̻̍'̧͕̅̐͡ͅ;̢̪̥̉̾̓[͔̗͊̿̓͢]̧̥̤̻͖̿͌̆͛͞.̛̭͙̳̞̆̓̈́~͈̞̺̝̿̾̏̂~̛͚~̳̰͇̱̭̔̂̍͘_̢̘̞͙͔̉͑̈́͑̂+̖̮̥̓͒̆͘͢-̪̟̐͡)̡̰͔͉̺̋̉͒̎͠(̳͎͙̲̭̐̈̔͑̉*̭̝̠̃̓͡&̩̩̓̔/͎̯̖̔͆͗͛͢.̮̗́̍'̦̜̝̿̌/͓̙̝̮̇̓͒̑͋͟'̛̫̐͜'̢̠̯̀̈̒ḫ̢̢̮̰̪͕̰̙̞̓̊̍̏̾͐̋̃̏͘͢͢͡͡ȇ͈̤̠̠̦̟̣̣̻̣̭̞̫̪̬̳̇̍̾̊̈͑̿̾̔͛̿͊̊͘͞'̛͍̤̘͚̯̋͑̂̕͘ͅs̘̯̭̻̥̥̳̜̟͖̦̅̎̔͌͒̑̅̅̓̽͡ͅ ͕̰̥̬͈͇͓̤̬̦̆͂̌̒͛̊͗͒͒̚̚͟j̨̫͉̠̺̖̙͙͉͔̲͑̽͂̑̾̑̉͐̓̓̕͜ų̛̱͉̪̺̖̝͔̯̦͙̅̆̓̌̊̅̅̉̂̚͢s̨̡̬̬̖͖͙͚̾̍̈́̏͂̂͘̚͟͞ţ̢̥̪̩̠͓̬̰̐͊̈̊̄͛̏̀̃ ͎̻͈͓̦̞̠̪̗̥̈̒̂̈́̔͋̌͘̚͠a͙̠̠͍̦̭̦͂̌͛͑͗̇͝͠ͅ ̨̡̥̭̝̹̟̺̈́͗͛͂̆͗̅̓ͅk͇͔͙̞̲̣̎̎͆̄͠í̡̧̛̩̹͇͍̹̣̯͆̾̒̄̃̕̕͞ͅḑ̤̩̮͓̤̣̹̪̙̦͈̓̎̒̃̈̓̃̇͗̂̚͟͟͡͡

'̧̼̬̺̳̯͖̞̫̜͚͔̯̼͓̺̪͎̘̭̺̈́́͑̄͌͌̾̔̐̉̓̌̚̚͘͞͝͡ "̢̨̨̡̠̰̦̙͈̗̗̩̲̺̗͙̂̓͂̋̆̾̎̆̅̉̉̃̂̒͘̕͟͡ͅ    /̢̢̮̲̣͎͈͎̞̤̠͍͈̰͙̙͓͕̘̪̳͋̈̿̾͆̾͛̿̑͋͛̒͌͆̓̒̇͘͢͞͡͞͠  ;̨̧̳͈̜̝͔͓͚͖͉͔̭̪͇͚̯̓̆̈́̔͑̓́͒̽̒̌̓͘͜͞͞͠͝͠ͅ >̢̛̺̻̗͇̤̥͓̳̮͖̳͈̹͓̱̫͚̱̤̦̦̖̪͚͊̎͆̓͗͒͑͗̔̾́͛̔͒̇͆͛̈́͘̕̚͡͝,͈̠̣͖̲͉͍̫̲̦̫̝̮̊̎̈̏̽̋̏͛̌̐̾̉͜͡          ,̢̢̧̛̭̠̹͇̺̤̪̣́̊͒̐͗̑͋̌̿̌͜͠     ,̯͇̫͓̮̦̺̖̜̲̺̰̗̭͋̊̅͒͂̄̉͒̔̕̚͞]̡̨̢̱͈̭̘͉̪̞̭̯̗̦̻̟͕̼̫̰̘̥̑̉̒̒̅̅̑́̿͆̈̇̓̓̊̎̌̈͢͡͝͞͠ͅ  [̢̢̨̨̩̘͓͓̺̬̪̳̳̜̐̾̌̃̇͗̽̇͑͒́͟͝͠     '̡̛͚͈̩͙̩̤̘̦͍͍͖̼͖͈̱͌͗̋̑̅͑̈̂͑̄̑͂̌̾̕̕͢͝ͅ'̡̨̬̯̗̹̤̟̤̻̅̇̌̋̿͒͑̽͑̃         `̨̛͔̪̰̻̭͖͍̝̞̭̱͉̟̋͐͒̾̊̓͗̌͒̽͗͘̚͟͟͞ `̧̡̢̡̜͖̩͇̙̙͕̝͎̱̀̿͛̑͐͑̾̿̄̑͋̔̀̄̿̕͟͝͡ͅͅͅ  

h̰̝̙̥̖̪̹̏̔̔͂̋͟͜͞͡ě̦̯̠̫̝̘̻͎͔̏͒͋́̂̌͢͠͠'̡̛̛̛̜͈͍͉̦̜͙̒̀̃̽̂͘͜s͙̹̖͍̩͉͚͉͊̔̄̑̓͘̚ ̡̧̤̤̙͕͋̌͐͐̄̌͆̅͜ͅj̣̲̪̗̖͕̲̍̾̿͌̍̈̿͢u̢̪̘͖̥͎͎͋̃̃͗͋̑̕͢ş̨̬̭̥̰̀̉̔̽͐̉̚̚͢͜͝ͅţ̛͔̰̦͍̜̮̠͋̑̓̀̿̍͞ ̫̜͔̥̥̦͔̥̝̟̊̽̓͑̉͆̄͠͝a̢̗͔͎͈̲͉̾͌̎̓͋̀͒͢͟͡ ̻̪̤̤͙͚̹̿̃̈͆̉̽͑̚͘͢͢ķ͎̳̠̭̥̤͎̒̇͆̍̆̍̾͡i̼̻̣͚̜͚̱͇̿͆̊̀̂͑̑̍͜d̨͈̲͖̭͓̪͆̈̈́͐́̈́͢͠͡͞ͅ


	32. ghosting

The birds are singing outside his window.

Seto groans and rolls over, shielding his eyes from the sun with an arm. He takes a deep breath, smelling breakfast cooking downstairs. His thoughts are pleasant and still cloudy with sleep. He thinks it's sometime in the spring or summer, from what Ethan told him the other night... How long ago was that? 

He shakes the thought away and rolls onto his side, sighing and pulling the pillows closer. Martin and Nitram shouldn't mind letting him sleep in. That night with the weird spirit-thing was enough to...

He furrows his brow. That was just last night, right? Or... Maybe it was a few days ago?

Again, he drops the questions, deciding to just take it easy today. After what he's been through, he needs a break... What has he been through?

Groaning, Seto rolls onto his back, hissing when the ports dig into his shoulders. Right, he still needs to get used to that. He'd always slept on his back.

Sitting up, Seto yawns tiredly and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Whatever Nitram is making smells  _good_. Sort of like... eggs and bacon, like mom used to make for them on the weekends. But as far as he knows, pigs don't exist up here. Well, hopefully, it still  _tastes_ like bacon.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stretches, working out a surprising stiffness. He feels so rested, it's strange that his body feels sore, as if he'd slept wrong or something. Chalking it up to not being used to sleeping on his stomach, he pushes himself to his feet. 

Seto stops and blinks down at himself. He never slept naked before. That's just  _weird_. God, maybe those silverwillow cigars really messed with him? But that can't be right, Ethan went home, and he'd pretty much come down from that high shortly after they'd locked themselves in the basement.

Shaking his head, he pads over to his closet, only to stop and glance back. His footprints leave a clear trail through  _dust_. That... What? How did the room get so dusty?

Confused, Seto looks around, noticing that it looks like he'd abandoned the place for a few months. He goes to the closet, frowning when he sees that all his clothes are the same. That's just... He doesn't know what to make of that. Maybe it had something to do with the spirit? 

Sighing through his nose, he pulls out clothes. Getting dressed wasn't always a hassle, but now it is, what with all the buttons and zippers. He has to make sure there's space for his wings.

Speaking of which, where are those? Usually, he leaves them hanging by the door, on the hook that Martin had pointed out when he first got them. But they're not there. 

"What is going on?" he mumbles to himself, rubbing his eyes in hopes of scrubbing everything back into place. But when he takes his hands away, nothing changes. 

Seto glances to the open door. He grabs the amulet set on his dresser, the cord neatly folded up, and pulls it over his head, heading out of his room. The rest of the house, at least, isn't coated in dust. But there _are_ new furniture pieces. He has to stop and stare at the new living room. How the hell did they get that in here without him noticing? It's only been a couple of days since the... 

He squeezes his eyes shut and violently shakes his head, going down the last few steps. "Hey, do you guys know what happened to my room?" he asks, rounding the banister at the bottom of the stairs. "It's like, all dusty and shit."

Seto looks up to find Nitram staring at him, mouth hanging open, eyes impossibly wide.

"What?" he asks. 

The pan drops from Nitram's hand. He looks like he's trying to say something, but nothing comes out. Seto frowns and goes to the kitchen, stooping down to grab the pan by its handle. The eggs are a lost cause, splattered all over the floor. He holds the pan out to Nitram. "Dude, are you alright?"

"You-" Nitram takes a step back, looks left and right, and settles on a butcher knife. Now it's Seto's turn to start backing up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. Nitram, it's me."

"Get away from me," Nitram hisses. If he had his wings on, Seto is sure he'd strike out with them. "We- We have spirit sigils up, you- How-"

"Dude.  _Dude_." Seto backs up, dropping the pan so he can raise his hands in the air as Nitram advances. "What-"

And like that, Nitram lunges, the knife swiping toward him. Seto yelps and stumbles back, the blade's end catching on his clothes and ripping a hole. "Hey! Nitram, what the hell?"

Nitram whistles for Martin, something sharp and shrill that Seto doesn't know yet. He hits the dining table, then quickly drops to the floor when the knife comes at his head again. Deciding that this isn't worth breakfast, Seto scrambles on all fours to the living room. Nitram stays relatively close, continuously trying to get him with the knife. 

Finally, Seto bolts for the door, figuring Martin would probably be able to get Nitram to stop. He's probably at the smith.

There's a clatter from behind him. Seto pauses in the doorway to glance back, paling when he sees Nitram pulling on his wings. Nitram shoots him a glance - is that  _fear_ \- and hurries to grab the other.

Cursing, Seto flings open the door, eyes squeezing shut against the cold. He scrambles outside, flinging himself off the porch and bolting for the worn-down path through the garden. He barely takes the time to look at the new plants. He hears the familiar clatter of metal and ducks just in time for primary feathers to spear where his head had just been. "Nitram! Stop, it's me!" he calls, digging up gravel and dirt as he takes off again.

He chances a glance up to the sky, watching Nitram rise, then pull his wings in for a dive. Hearts pounding - hearts? - Seto backtracks, letting Nitram hit the ground instead of him. God, what is going  _on_?

Seto has to skid to a stop to keep himself from running off the edge. The smith is there, at least, looking like it always has. He quickly hurries down the stairs, pressing himself in the small cave at the bottom of them, leading to the bridge. "Martin," he calls, hoping the angel will hear him. "Hey, Nitram is, like, trying to kill me! Martin!"

There's no answer. He creeps toward the bridge, looking up at Nitram circling in the sky. He flinches back when the angel lands at the small island and hurries inside the shop. He waits, holding his breath, straining his ears. He can vaguely hear shouting. What, are they fighting again? They've stopped, recently, and he hasn't seen them really get into it at all in the past month or so.

The door flings back open and Nitram paces out, turning around to glare at-

Oh, god.

Oh  _god_.

Martin looks horrible. Like he hasn't slept or ate or  _anything_ in the past three weeks. His eyes don't glow, and his hair is disheveled, tangled around the curving ends of his horns. He turns to glare at where Seto is and then stops, face falling slack.

Gulping, Seto finally accepts that something is really,  _really_ wrong. He slowly comes out onto the bridge, wincing when Nitram riles. But Martin holds out a hand, still just staring over at him.

"Hey, I-" Seto starts, and Martin takes a step back. "I don't know what's going on, but-"

Maybe he lost his mind? Maybe  _they_ lost their minds? He finally reaches the island, stepping onto the dirt. His toes are freezing by now; he wasn't able to put shoes on in his haste to not get killed. 

"How," Martin says, and that's it. He finally tears his eyes from Seto, looking to Nitram. "How."

"It's just a spirit," Nitram hisses, gaze never leaving Seto. But now, he looks uncertain. Seto doesn't know much about spirits, but he figures, if he  _was_ one he would have attacked, or... Or something. 

Martin slowly steps away from his brother. He takes a few steps, and Seto is looking up at him. "I'm... I don't know what's going on," he says, "But I'm  _not_ a spirit. Or- anything like that, I-"

Martin's hand raises and Seto stops himself, frowning when the angel grabs his shoulder. Martin's gaze darts there, as if surprised he could do that. Slowly, he mutters, "We- We burned your body. You- How did you come back?"

His blood seems to slow, along with all thoughts. "Wh-what?"

"Martin," Nitram says, and his voice sounds desperate. "Martin, it's just a spirit. It's just a spirit."

"No. No, no, oh god," Martin whispers, and then grabs Seto and pulls him into a tight hug. Seto just stands there, dumbfounded. "No, he's- He's-"

Seto's never really seen Martin cry. It's  _disturbing_ , and horrible, and something is so, so wrong-

 

 

_"You have eight hours, on the dot. By then, you need to be **gone**. This is the last chance we're giving you, Seto."_

_"But- What do you mean? Why do I have to leave?" Seto clutches the phone tightly, shaking. He looks up as something upstairs crashes. The Thing is back. God, he hopes Martin will be okay. "Where do I go?"_

_"Away from where you are. You are not to contact the twins, you are not to show your face in the west until I tell you it's alright to."_

_"But- I- **Why**?"_

_Silence. He gulps and hugs his knees to his chest. "Why do I have to leave?"_

_"Martin has five years, one-hundred and three days, fourteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, and thirty-two seconds to live, if you choose to stay. That's it. You leave, he lives. You stay, he dies. I have... We have looked through **every** option. Every single damn path, and it all leads to that."_

_He shakes his head, hearing the silence reign up above. "What- What do you mean? I- I can't just leave, I- They're the last family I have."_

_"They're not your family. They were unfortunate enough to come across your path. Martin ruined your life, and now you'll ruin his." The voice on the other end is cold, and blunt, even though he's still not sure if whoever it is is actually serious. He sniffs back tears, though, listening at the shuffling up above in the house. It doesn't sound like fighting._

_"Eight hours," the voice says, when he doesn't respond. "Eight hours, or I'm sending something after you. Eight hours, or you'll die. Do you understand? This is your last chance at survival, Seto Alikye. In eight hours, you'll die. You leave immediately, and I'll cut the timer off. If you don't..."_

_He realizes he hasn't heard the voice take a breath. The thought is unnerving. He shifts, scrubbing at his eyes._

_"I'm getting impatient. It's safe up there, now, I made sure he could take those Ilicho-"_

_"Impatient?" Seto hisses, trying to stop himself from sobbing. "What, like having that guy Aza stalk me wasn't **impatient**? If this is some joke-"_

_"I assure you, Seto. It isn't. Martin has so long to live, and the more you are with him, the shorter that timespan is. Leave, or We take action. Leave, or Martin dies."_

_And then the phone goes silent. The basement door opens. Whatever Martin says goes on deaf ears. Seto sucks in a sharp breath, pressing his palm over his mouth to keep from heaving. "Martin?" he mumbles, shaking his head. When it's clear that the voice on the phone is gone, he pulls it away, and clicks it shut._

 

 

Nitram pulls both coffee and what looks like hard alcohol out. Martin lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. And Seto sits at the table, staring wide-eyed at the flip phone. He opens it, shuts it, opens it again. There's a voicemail. It's not the one Aza initially left - that one was deleted the moment he'd heard it. 

He glances up from his hands, shutting the phone again. Martin is still staring at him, like he's in a daze. He takes another drag and lets the smoke billow out, despite Nitram's glare. At least some things haven't changed. 

The silence is strained, though. None of them want to broach the subject of...  _how_. But he needs to. Shaking, he opens the voicemail.

Nitram takes a gulp from the bottle and passes it to Martin, who drinks in turn. 

 _"Right. So, my husband's going to beat my ass, if not kill me."_ Aza does  _not_ sound happy.  _"But I'm against slaughtering children like that. Especially like that- Marisol, not now honey, I'm on the phone."_ Something covers the microphone for a second and they hear muffled talking. Aza sighs and says,  _"Seto, I'm not going to lie. I don't know if they'll... let me get away with what I did. And I'm sorry, if they don't. But it wasn't right, and I- I just cannot do that to you, to the twins. So I... I pulled a few strings. Consider this a second chance. Or a third, or fifth. However many times I've given you a second chance doesn't matter."_

Martin takes another drink, slides the bottle toward Nitram. Seto wishes they'd give him some. He's not sure what to think. But Aza continues as if he knows that.  _"Believe me or not. You died. Now your back. There might be side effects; I'm not the gods, after all, but I did the best I could. Seto, there might be some memory loss, some psychosis, and... Possibly heart failure, I think? Not sure, when I necromance it's not usually to this extent... Anyway, it- This is just a... hiccup. That's all. Try to live on."_

Aza himself doesn't seem sure of his words. He takes a breath to continue when the door in the room opens with a click. Someone talks in the background.  _"Okay, honey, tell them I'll be right out. Hey, tell your dad about those cool bugs you got yesterday, remember? You should show him."_ A pause. The door closes.  _"Right, they're here. Martin, remember our deal. Hold your end of it, or I'm taking this all back. And I-"_ A gush of static erupts and Seto flinches, hands slapping over his ears. He's taken back for a moment, back where the windows all shattered and there was that  _sound_ , but then it stops. He glances over to find Martin and Nitram bringing their hands away from their ears as well. 

 _"Just, take care of each other, you three. Martin, the deal. Seto, go to the doctor if you notice numbness in your limbs or pain in the joints- Have Baki check your hearts, I-"_ His words are rushed, as if someone is trying to take the phone from him. An argument breaks out, though none of it is in any language Seto recognizes. From the looks on the brothers' faces, they don't know it either.  _"And Nitram- When the time comes, sign the damn document, you'll find out later-"_

And like that, the voicemail clicks off. He's left with the blank blue screen. The three of them sit in silence for a while longer.

Nitram takes a deep breath, and calmly turns to Martin. "Do you want to explain what he meant? What  _deal_?"

Martin stares down at the bottle and looks up at his brother, then over to Seto. The skin around his eyes is dark, and Seto realizes he looks  _sick_. The horns, which have grown out even more, to curl up almost past his eyes, are flaking apart on the outside layer. His hair is tangled, and disheveled, knotted around parts of his horns. It will probably have to be cut.

The silence had been going on for so long that Seto jumps when Martin says, "I did what I had to do."

And he smiles, but it wavers, eyebrows crinkling together. He clears his throat and stands up, and takes a deep breath. "I have your wings in the shop, Seto," he says, gesturing to the door. Seto glances at him, then at Nitram, then slowly stands and follows Martin down to the smothing island. They're silent the entire way. Now that he isn't running for his life, Seto takes a better look around. The garden is definitely different, flourishing under Nitram's care. "What- What month is it?" he asks, stopping halfway out of the garden."

Martin pauses and turns, and takes a deep breath. "It's almost June."

"So I've- I've been gone for-"

"Two months, yes." Martin shifts on his feet, looking down at the dirt. Seto drops his gaze as well. And after a long, long second, he asks, "Martin... What happened?"

Martin shuts his eyes and shakes his head, turning around without a word and gesturing for Seto to follow him. He does so after a moment, then hurries to catch back up. "I don't- really remember what happened. Last I know, I..." He tries to think back, tries to think about that sound that was so familiar, but also- not. He thinks about brief flashes of lightning and shakes his head. "You fought that spirit, and I was on the phone."

"Seto." Martin's voice holds a warning tone in it, and Seto feels himself tensing for the worst. "Not now, okay?"

Deflating, and pausing on the stairs, Seto sighs and looks out at the sky. It's fairly clear, with only a few bursts of clouds to pepper the world below them. The sun is bright, and actually hot, shining down from the midday position. He shakes his head. "Does Ethan know? And the other kids? What about everyone else, who knows-"

"Only Ethan. He heard the fight happening and came to check. We... I didn't want word getting out." Martin doesn't look at him, crossing the bridge and not glancing back. Seto heaves a sigh and treads after him, hands gripping the rope railing. Martin pauses at the door to hold it open for him, then says. "They're in the back office."

"How badly damaged were they?" he asks, glancing around the shop as they pass through. Nothing seems to be changed, other than the fact that there are less work-in-progress wings. Maybe they got some work done?

"Bad."

Nearly fed up with the short answers, Seto reaches up to rub his nose, then drops his hands so he can tug at the hem of his shirt. But when Martin pushes open the door to the main office, and ushers Seto in, he has to stop in surprise. The wings are spread out across the wall, held up gently by hooks embedded in the wall.

The wings aren't... the ones he had been using. They're in the same shape, with the thumb claw. But now there's an extra claw, further down the wing than the first. They're a different color entirely, more like the dark churning gray of a storm, with actual patterns throughout. He goes up to them, reaching out to run his fingers over the seemingly-delicate feathers. He can already see the difference, see that Martin lengthened them. "What kind of bird?"

"I didn't reference one." Seto turns to find Martin leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded as he looks them over with a critical eye. "I remade them for speed, and strength. Agility. Now, here."

He walks up to stand by Seto, and runs a finger down something he hadn't even noticed, in the initial surprise. It looks like... a tail, sort of. Martin grabs the end of it up and pulls out the feathers that had laid flat along its length. "People over in the east use these a lot. I've worked on some replacement tails for Nitram and I, but I haven't gotten anywhere on them."

"So it, goes on my tail?" Said appendage wavers, swishing to the side. He glances down at it. It's as if his body has grown while he was... The tail reaches well past his feet now. Curious, he reaches up to grab for the small horns, bumping into much longer ones. How did he not even notice?

"Yes. See these, here, they attach to the bottom of the portlines, when the wings are on. It acts as armor, as well. Tail-pulling is..." Martin visibly shudders. He pulls the armor off the wall, holding it parallel to the ground using his arm. With his free hand, he gently pulls at the multiple feathers on one side. Seto watches them move together, yet independently of the other side. "So it helps with turning?" he asks, reaching over to study the other side.

"It helps with those tight turns." Martin moves to hang it up, pressing his fingers underneath the metallic feathers and pulling out two long cords. "They're magnetic," he explains, raising them to settle against the portlines of the wings. Seto watches them snap together. "You can have it on or off, it doesn't matter. Even if you're wearing it, it shouldn't change your flight unless you choose to use it. And if you don't like it, that's fine. You don't have to use it."

"No, I- I like it." He stands there staring up at the wings, then squints when he notices something. He leans closer to the wall, pressing his face against it and pulling one of the wings away slightly. The underside is lighter, almost white. "Camouflage, right?"

"Actually, it's- Well, you'd have to put them on to really notice the difference. Here, try them on." Martin pulls one down and holds it out, helping Seto pop it into the port socket. A shiver races down his spine and he flexes the wing, realizing it is much,  _much_ lighter than the last pair. How in the world did Martin accomplish this?

"Now, I know we haven't really trained you in magic, but just... feel for it, real quick," Martin says as he pulls the other wing down. Once it's on, Seto reaches for the threads, and nods when he can see them clearly.

"Now, just- You said it was like strings, right? Just pull, slightly. Not too hard." Martin braces his hand against one of the wings when Seto pulls too hard on the magic. The metal jerks forward and he takes a deep breath, releasing it. 

"Gentle," Martin says, and that's when Seto can see him tug at the magic. The wing...  _flickers_. Seto reaches for the strings again, and tugs, just lightly. The metal turns a dusty purple, then the color fades back to the gray and white it had been originally.

"wait, how- How in the world-" He can't find the words. He looks over at the other wing and pulls on the magic, holding it a bit longer. He doesn't have conscious control over the color, but after thinking for a long moment, it fades into a pale blue, the color of the sky outside. "How the  _fuck_ did you do this?"

"It's good to see it working." Martin hesitates in grabbing the wing, then jostles the primary feathers. Seto struggles to keep ahold of the magic, letting the color fade back to how it was. Martin sighs and goes to the desk, making a note in an open book. " _That_ is still a work in progress. But see, this sigil here." He points near Seto's shoulder without looking up from his writing. "That's an invisibility sigil, combined with a simple camouflage one. And a few others, but those- those aren't important. Really, all the work goes to that."

Seto studies the characters near the spot Martin pointed. Now that he's looking, he notices  _many_ carvings, all similar to the other, spread across the wing. They shimmer with magic, gleaming like fireflies at night. He glances at the book Martin is writing in. At first, he'd figured it was just an Above language, but now he sees that it's just covered in sigils. One at the top right, he can't look away from. Feathers rattling uncontrollably, he points at it. "What's that one?"

Martin glances at where he's pointing and sets down his pencil. After a long moment, he stands up and rolls back his sleeve, turning his arm over to show the same, but completed, sigil tattooed on the inside of his elbow. Seto takes a step back, frowning at it. It  _almost_  looks like the one Jordan had on his back.

...But that isn't the only one. Martin's arm is  _covered_ in them, twining over his tanned skin and crowded in, as if he had been running out of room for them. Those weren't there before.  "Why do you have so many?"

"Because," Martin says simply, and pushes his sleeve back down, buttoning it at his wrist. Seto's gaze wanders to his other arm, wondering if there are more. He shivers at the thought. 

"But- But  _why_?"

"Seto," Martin warns, and he bristles at the tone. "Please don't ask me that."

Seto glances at his wrists, where a few sigils just barely poke out from beneath the shirtsleeves. His hands are bare, as well as his face and neck and horns. Can someone even put sigils on horns? "They're not dangerous, are they?"

Martin sighs and reaches up to rub his face. "Not all of them, no."

"And the others? What was the one I pointed out? A suppressing sigil?"

"No, not exactly- Seto, please." Martin snaps the book closed and leans on the desk, head hanging. His face scrunches for a moment and Seto stands back in worried silence. "Just... I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

At that, Martin waves him off. "Ignore me. Here, try on this armor."

It's an abrupt change in the subject, but Martin doesn't give him a chance to get another word in on the matter. He goes on to explain the tail and its functions, pointing at each part and sometimes moving it to demonstrate. Seto frowns up at it. "How do I get it on?"

"You'll have to put it and the wings on before your shirt, but the portlines connecting it to the wings are fine underneath clothing. I've worn one before; this is a similar design." Martin pulls it off the wall and hands it to Seto, who takes it carefully. "You don't have to treat it like a baby, but try not to drop it all that often."

"Yeah, no, I gotcha." Still, he cradles it. And stands there for a moment in awkward silence. Martin turns away to stack some papers away. He pauses at one, then looks over at him. "Go test them out. I'm sure Ethan would love to see you."

"Do you think he'll try to kill me, too?"

Martin waves off his concern. "Nitram is just superstitious. But have fun with that."

"Thanks. You're a lot of help."

"I try to be." And Martin gives him a lopsided grin. Seto can't help but smile back, but his heart feels heavy. It's almost like back at the beginning, when Martin was more light-hearted, when he was okay. Before Nathaniel, before things took a bad turn. 

Seto opens his mouth to say something- To ask a question, and maybe get an answer. But he closes it, and instead thanks Martin. On his way out, he pauses to look back, only to find Martin sitting down at the desk, slumping his head into his folded arms. Gulping, Seto hurries outside, pausing to reach back and unbutton his shirt. It's always more difficult with wings on.

After fumbling around a bit, he manages to line the curved part of the armor up to his tail, and yelps when the portlines snap into contact. It seems to  _mold_ to the limb, moving as fluidly as Seto can move his tail. He buttons the shirt back up and pulls his tail around to look at it. The armor travels down most of the length of his tail, melding perfectly with it. Presses his fingers where flesh meets metal and realizes that it's like the wings. He can feel it as if it were his own flesh.

A thought strikes him as he's about to turn and jump from the island. How did Martin know what length his tail would be? It was much shorter before- Before everything happened. It was barely to his knees. So how did he...

Seto shakes his head and walks to the edge of the island, staring down at the ocean below. The waves are calm, though he can make out w few white-caps from where he's at. he blinks and frowns, and grunts when he realizes that the islands are lower. "Weird," he mutters, taking two steps back. "Better get a head start on the jump, then."

Feeling weirdly excited to fly again, Seto tenses, then sprints to the edge. He jumps, limbs flailing as he whoops and drops. The wind bites past him, snagging on his hair and clothes. He swoops out of the drop quickly; the ocean is closer, after all, and it wouldn't do to drown so soon.

Stomach dropping as he gains altitude, Seto chances a glance over his shoulder at his tail, wavering in the air from doing so. As Martin said, the metal stays flat. He doesn't even notice it.

Shaking his head - and wobbling his flight path - Seto turns forward and pumps his wings. They're so much lighter and swifter than his first pair. He easily picks up speed, curving around to hurtle past the smith with an excited whoop. He catches Martin standing at the edge, watching him, and raises a hand to wave. It over-balances him, though, and he ends up going slewing to the left. Gasping in surprise, he pulls his arm back and straightens out.

On his next fly-by, Nitram is talking with Martin, gesturing out toward the sky. Martin crosses his arms and looks down at the ground. He says something back. Seto slows his flight down, kicking his feet forward to fall back. When he loses too much altitude, though, he continues on. It's... probably for the best to leave them to hash out whatever they're talking about.

He knows it's about him. How could it  _not_ be? But Seto-  _doesn't_ want to think about that. Maybe if he just... goes on as if nothing happened, they'd all be able to get over it. Maybe things will go back to how they were.

But he also knows that  _that_ is a foolish hope.

[...]

Ethan doesn't hug him, at first. But Seto holds his hands up to show he's not a threat, and says, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

And Ethan rushes him, tackling him to the ground and sitting on his middle and yells and demands to know what the  _fuck_ happened, and what the  _fuck_ is going on. Seto gasps for his air back and laughs, playfully trying to push Ethan off him. But then Ethan grabs his face, and shakes his head slightly.

"Seto. I- I saw you die. I was there when they burned your body. What. Happened."

Seto falls limp, glancing over at the other kids crowded in the doorway of the house. The older ones keep the younger behind them, all of them with varying degrees of horror and morbid curiosity on their faces. He looks back up at Ethan to find that he's crying, tears silently dripping onto Seto's shirt. 

"I..." But he's at a loss for words. Ethan doesn't know about Aza except for that one voicemail. Hell, Seto isn't really sure what happened, either. He closes his mouth and shakes his head. "I don't know."

"But you're back."

"Yeah. I'm back."

Ethan's multicolored eyes search his for a second. Seto's not sure what he's looking for. But maybe he finds it. Because he leans down, head pressed to Seto's chest, and he cries. Seto hesitates, then pulls both his arms and wings over Ethan. "I'm back."

[...]

They go flying. Just him and Ethan, soaring well above any drifting islands. Not that there are many around; it's as if Martin and Nitram pulled their life completely away from everything. 

With the wind whistling in their ears, they can't talk. Seto's grateful for it, because he's not sure what he'd say. It's not like he could fully explain what happened. And it's not like he wants to. Ethan seems to understand, because instead of being awkward about it, he tries his best to just... fall back into rhythm. Seto feels like thanking him for that. Martin and Nitram... He feels like it might take a long,  _long_ time for things to be okay with them. But Ethan-

He glances over at the other angel, and whistles _Find place to land_. Ethan meets his gaze, then looks down. Seto follows his look and notices a small Ground-island. He folds his wings and drives, hearing the telltale whine of wind against metal as Ethan follows him. They touch down softly on a beach, kicking up clouds of sand with their wings.

Ethan immediately flops down on his back, wings jerking at the movement. Seto sits down near his side, crossing his feet under his thighs and holding his knees. After a long moment, he says, "I want to explain. I really do. But... I kind of just... don't want to."

His friend pushes himself up off the sand using his wings. He shakes sand out and digs his shoes into the ground. "Then don't. I don't care. You're back, and that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"Don't the... how and what matter?" Seto looks over at him to meet Ethan's steady stare. "Both Martin and Nitram seem to care about that."

Ethan shrugs and leans down to pull off his shoes and socks. Then he stands and starts unzipping his shirt, and kicks his pants off as well. When he sees Seto's confused look, he laughs and pops his wings off. "C'mon, I wanna cool down. It's so hot down here."

Seto sighs and gets up, stripping to his boxers. By the time he's pulled the armor and wings from his body, Ethan is already wading into the ocean. For a second, he's taken back to the time his mom brought him and Jordan to the beach for a week. He smiles slightly and runs to the water, only slowing down when it's too deep to run through. He claps his hands together and dives, squeezing his eyes shut. When water tries to creep up his nose, he exhales, bubbles flying up past his face. When he surfaces, Ethan is close by, looking worried. "What, do you not know how to swim?"

"Not really. I like to be standing." Ethan starts to come over to him, and yelps when he hits a part where the sand goes abruptly deeper. He backs up. Seto laughs at him, treading waters against the waves. "Yeah, the ocean isn't the best place to learn. My mom taught me. You just gotta watch out for undertows. They'll pull you right out to sea."

Ethan pales at that, and shrieks when Seto sends a wave of water at him. He splashes back and nearly loses balance because of it. 

They play and splash for a while before getting tired. Once the waves get a bit too much, they head into the more shallow water and sit down, letting the waves wash over their laps. Seto digs his toes into the sand, wincing at the feel of a shell poking at his foot. "So how have... how have you been?"

Ethan shrugs at that and looks away. "I won't lie. It wasn't good. I'm... glad I had the other kids with me."

Seto nods and shifts forward to claw through the sand by his thighs, digging small holes on either side of him. "I'm worried about Martin."

"I am too. He- He's been a bit weird." Ethan makes eye contact for a second. "Did he talk to you at all?"

Now it's his turn to shrug. They leave the conversation at that, and sit in silence for a long while. Seto stares down at the water, lost in thought. Nitram was obviously the one holding Martin together. As much as he could, anyway. He's glad Ethan had the support of the other kids - which he really needs to get to know. He's only met them a few times in passing when he'd gone over to visit Ethan. 

But Martin- Seto's really worried about him. Maybe now that he's back, he'll be able to help him out. Lord knows it's his turn to be the helping hand. Martin's already done so much for him. More than he will ever be able to repay.

Ethan grabs him from his thoughts, gripping his shoulder and shaking him. "Look," he whispers, pointing out at the ocean. Seto follows where he's pointing, to find a boat sailing through the water. He stands quickly, noting the sails. Not a ferry, but a fishing boat. He explains to Ethan, "They're just fishing. They shouldn't come close."

"Still," Ethan says, wading up to the sand to pull on his wings. Seto follows his lead, casting looks out to the boat. He's once again surprised at how good his vision is; he can clearly make out people running about on the deck. From the looks of it, he and Ethan have been spotted. 

"They won't do anything," Seto says as he pops in the last wing, shivering at the feeling of the sudden connection. He will  _never_ get used to that. "We'll be fine."

"I don't trust anyone who lives on the Ground." Ethan gathers his clothing, shaking sand from his pants as he tugs them on over his soaked boxers. Seto frowns and figures he'd do the same, despite the discomfort. He stuffs his socks into his pocket and pulls on his shoes. Ethan gasps suddenly and Seto looks back to the boat to find it coming closer. He can clearly see the harpoons being loaded. "I told you!" Ethan shouts, gathering the rest of his things and tying his shoes in his shirt. He paces, obviously unwilling to leave Seto. "Come on, we need to go."

"Alright, alright." Seto doesn't bother with his shirt, it around his waist backwards. He takes a few running steps and launches into the air, Ethan following closely. They spiral higher up into the air, eyes trained on the fishing vessel.

"Wait," Seto calls, "I wanna see something."

Ethan grumbles something he can't hear, but doesn't make any moves to stop him. Seto drops slightly, going to pass by the fishing boat. He hears screams, and can see the harpoon guns trying to swivel to him. Figuring they wouldn't shoot at their own boat, he lands gently on the top part of the mast, calling down, "I mean no harm. What district are you guys from?"

The fishermen talk among themselves and he frowns, trying to hear what they're saying. But their words sound...  _garbled_ , different. Seto shifts uneasily as someone pulls a rifle from a storage box. Figuring to cut the visit short, Seto jumps off the mast, swooping past the lines of the sails and quickly gaining altitude as a shot rings out. The bullet misses him by a mile. He swiftly catches back up with Ethan, who glares at him. "Why did you do that?"

"Ethan, what language am I speaking?"

At this, his friend looks taken aback. And  _confused_. "What do you mean? Western, obviously."

"Am I really?" He tries to think, furrowing his brow. "No, we- We always spoke in English, right?"

Ethan glances over at him, obviously worried. "No? No, I don't even  _know_ English."

Swallowing down the rock forming in his throat, Seto shakes it off. "Let's just- Let's just get home."

[...]

"Hey, Nitram?" 

Nitram jumps, wings rattling, and he whips around as if he hadn't been expecting anyone in the house. He takes a moment to calm down, visibly making himself relax, before replying. "Yeah, Seto?"

Shifting on his feet, Seto glances over at the new furniture. Honestly, he can't blame Nitram for being jumpy. He's reacting as Seto expected everyone to react, but... Nobody else seems to have as big of a problem with it. With being... alive again. Shaking his head, he asks, "Did you teach me western?"

Nitram frowns at this, putting his glass back onto the counter. Seto notices a wine bottle behind him, but doesn't comment on it. "Of course I did. How else would you be talking to me?"

"I- I don't think I remember English, though, I- I saw a fishing boat earlier, and I couldn't understand anything of what they were saying."

At this, Nitram looks confused. "What do you mean? You didn't- You didn't know English to begin w-... Wait. What?"

"That's what I'm saying. I was born on the Ground! I- I  _should_ know how to speak like that, shouldn't I?" Seto is mentally sent into a panic when Nitram frowns and looks askance at him. The confusion settles in a moment later and Nitram rubs his forehead, brows meeting together. 

"You... You were born on the Ground."

"Uh. Yeah. With my mom? And Jordan?"

Nitram swiftly grabs his glass and downs it, squeezing his eyes shut. "Are you sure?"

And... he isn't. But nothing else makes sense. "If I wasn't, then who is my mom?"

"Kerberos. From the east, remember?" But Nitram doesn't sound so sure of himself. He hesitates, then grabs the wine bottle to refill his glass. Seto doesn't know why he even bothers with the glass. "She was a spy, and- And she..."

"Martin told you?"

"No, no he didn't... tell me that."

Seto slowly takes a seat at the dining table, a headache forming. Aza had said memory loss. But that doesn't make sense. He  _clearly_ remembers growing up on the Ground. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been down there. "Then how did you know?"

"Maybe he did." Nitram brushes it off, taking a sip from his glass. He swallows, says, "He probably did. But I'm not sure why you're asking about English, Seto. I can teach you if you want, but it's not my strongest."

"No, I- I should already know it!" He reaches up to press his palms to his eyes until it hurts, but it's relief from the headache. "Mom raised me on the Ground, with Jordan. I-"

"Are you...  _sure_?"

Seto gets up quickly, feeling dizzy. He shakes his head to clear the spots from his vision and throws his hands in the air. "I- Just forget it. Just... forget it. Forget I said anything."

He rubs his eyes as he leaves, ignoring Nitram's calling after him. Shoving the door open, he takes wing, and drops down onto the smithing island. It's quiet inside the workshop aside from the soft sounds Martin is making in the office. He looks up when Seto pushes open the door. Martin takes one glance at his expression and asks, "Are you alright?"

"I... I'm not sure."

Martin gestures to a chair and Seto sits down heavily, tail nearly getting caught under him. "What's wrong?"

"I... I was born on the Ground, right?" He meant to sound somewhat dismissive with it, but his voice comes out weak and wavering. Martin's frown deepens and he cocks his head to the side.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I don't know English. And- And Nitram- He keeps asking me if I'm  _sure_ I was."

Martin's fingers drum across the desk and Seto realizes his sleeves are both rolled up, showing the massive amounts of runes inked on his skin. "That's... weird. You don't know English at all?"

"I- I don't know. I'm speaking western now, right?"

"Eastern, actually, though the dialect is a bit off."

Seto feels a bit sick. He grips his stomach and hunches forward, shutting his eyes against the dizziness. It's as if- It's like if he thinks about it too hard,  _something_ is preventing him from going any further. But he remembers the Ground. Remembers their house, and school, and Adam. Remembers his mom's death and the funeral and how he'd been applying to the best colleges he could find. Remembers wanting to work for NASA. Remembers... When he thinks back, he can clearly hear his family's voices, all in English. 

Martin says something and Seto looks up, frowning. "What?"

Again, the angel speaks, but it's  _jibberish_. Seto stares at him blankly and Martin sighs. "Okay, that proved it. Well, I- I can teach you. Don't ask Nitram to; he's not the best at it."

"How do I not realize I'm speaking in another language, though? I asked Ethan and he said we  _always_ spoke in western. Like, always. It's like- It's like I never spoke to him in English, or- or something-"

"Seto. Calm down." Martin holds out a hand, as if to smooth the air out. Seto releases a puff of breath and leans back, eyes trained on the floor. "I just... I'm so confused." And it comes out as a whisper, and it means more than just forgetting his native language, and it's like he's admitting to murder. "I've only- been back for a day, and- I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean? You live on. There's nothing else _to_ do." Martin fully turns toward him, now, hunching slightly to get at his eye level. 

"I mean, I- I'm- Everything's just so confusing. Aza, you, Nitram and Ethan, this whole thing. My memories. Nitram said something about my mom bringing me over from the east, but- She was there long before I came around. How could she have brought me over when... When she didn't? Brian was over here, right? How did she-"

He reaches up to scrub at his eyes, and then tug his hair. His shirt is already ripping from how badly he'd been tugging at it, and Nitram wouldn't be happy with mending it. His hands hit his horns and he tugs sharply at them, wincing at the pain. "And- it's like, you and Ethan want to just forget it happened. Forget I died. And Nitram- I just, I have this feeling he won't ever... get past that. And that's alright, I  _expected_ that. I didn't expect _this_ from you, though."

At this, Martin is silent. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Seto, I... Isn't it best to just get past it? To continue on?"

Seto shrugs, staring past Martin, at the books and candles strewn across his desk. "I guess," he mumbles, "I guess so."

"Good. Now, go on back home and eat. And you should get some rest." Martin stands and starts closing books to put them away. "I'll be there in a bit."

Seto sits there for a moment longer, then sighs and gets up. "Okay. I don't think Nitram has been making dinner, though, so... leftovers it is."

Martin snorts and nods, but doesn't turn around. Seto looks over his tangled hair, and can't stop himself from saying, "And Martin? Take care of yourself. Please."

Seto turns to go when Martin doesn't say anything. On his way out the door, though, he looks back to see Martin running a hand over the back of his hair, as if realizing how bad he looks.

Hoping Martin will take Seto's word, he leaves. The sun is starting to set, making gold and orange and pink spear across the cloudless sky. He takes a deep breath of the chilled air, and leaps into the sky.


	33. a denial a denial a denial

[hello, hello, hello, how low?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKN6IqpcAk8)

* * *

 

* * *

 

The unlit candle sits in front of him. The wax is melting, despite him not being able to light the wick. Burns make a patchwork of red over his hands and fingers. Taking a deep breath, he rubs the right sigil, trying to pull at the magic from it. With his free hand, he pinches the wick and snaps his fingers. 

The explosion is small, but still singes the pads of his already-stinging fingers. Cursing and abruptly pushing his chair out, he paces for a bit, scratching his head. A few days after Seto came back, he'd recruited Nitram to help him cut it. It was horrible, cutting his hair, but he hadn't had much choice. He'd let it go unbrushed for two months and had to pay the price for that. His horns are polished, he shaved, and he had taken a long,  _long_ shower, just to scrub all the grime off of him. He's not happy that he'd let himself get so bad. But it couldn't be helped.

Sighing, Martin sits back down at the desk, grabbing the sigil and snapping the wick again. This time he doesn't get  _anything_. Groaning, he holds his face in his hands. "It's been two fucking months, and I still can't even light a candle."

"That's because you're pulling from outside, not inside."

Martin isn't surprised at the voice behind him. He pinches the bridge of his nose and spins on the stool, glaring at Aza. "You can't knock?"

"No need to." Aza leans against the opposite desk, right where Seto had been standing two days ago. "I figured nothing would go smoothly. You did too. That's why I'm here."

"I didn't  _ask_ why you were here. I already know why."

Aza raises an eyebrow, then nods behind Martin. He glances back to find the candle flickering lightly, the flame dyed a cool green. "Nice lighting choice," Martin mutters sarcastically, sending Aza a renewed glare. 

With his sigh, the flame snuffs out, and with an inhale it's back, a regular orange. Aza holds his hands up slightly, as if waiting for an applause. When it doesn't come, he drops them. "From inside, Martin," he says, jabbing a thumb at the center of his chest, where a second heart would lay on a normal angel. "Your magic pulls from outside. Mine doesn't. It comes from a Well. From inside."

"Yeah, yeah, you've explained." Martin falls silent, not meeting Aza's eyes. While the normal gray for humans is somewhat unsettling, Martin doesn't think he could ever get used to how Aza actually looks when his glamour is down. "I- I have a few questions."

"That's why I'm here." Aza pulls the stool out and sits down, crossing his arms. When Martin doesn't immediately speak, he waves a hand. "Go on."

"Seto doesn't remember English. And is suddenly fluent in both of the Above languages." It's not a question, more of a statement. Aza pauses, then nods sharply.

"The English language is finicky," Aza explains, "And I wanted it to be easy for you three to communicate. Your language is much more detailed, and better for spell-casting, once he learns the characters for the sigils. English doesn't help with any of that. I traded one for the two."

"And Nitram doesn't remember where Seto came from. He's from the Ground, yeah? Hell, even the kid seemed confused about it." Martin glances down at his arms, frowning at the unfamiliar characters of the sigils. He looks back up when Aza doesn't speak. "So?"

"Well... I didn't intend for that to happen. Look, Martin, I'll be blunt. Kids talk. That group of fledglings you guys have at the opposite end of the island? Well, word got out. I had to make sure it  _didn't_. And to do that, I had to move things around. I didn't intend anything to happen to your brother, but-"

"But it did." He spits the words, angry that Aza would even dare to mess with Nitram's head. "And now things are fucked up."

"No. I made things  _easier_ for you. As far as  _anyone_ is concerned, sans you and Seto, the kid came from the East, and you two took him in when his mother passed. There won't be any trouble with his father. I doubt Brian even remembers he had Seto and Jordan in the first place."

"That's cruel."

"It's efficient."

Martin takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, shutting his eyes. "So you didn't tamper with Seto's head?"

"No, I did. I had to. There's no way to bring a person back as they were. I'm not god." Aza plucks at a fuzz on his sweater, flicking it to the side. 

"You sure act like it."

At this, Aza laughs, and shakes his head. "No, no, I don't. Believe me, Martin. You don't want to meet them. You don't want them tampering like this."

"I still don't believe you," Martin replies with a slight snarl. But it fades quickly. "You know that. Stop saying shit like that. You don't scare me."

Aza rocks back and forth for a second, bobbing his head side to side and regarding Martin with an unreadable expression. After a long moment, he seems to make up his mind. "Anyway," he says, and brings a cup up to his lips to sip from. Martin frowns when he puts his hand back down and the cup disappears. Show off. "I came here to make sure you're training."

"I'm  _trying_ ," Martin growls, gesturing at the desk, where burns scatter the wood and several melted candles lay. As if it wasn't obvious. "None of it's working. Your sigils are faulty."

"No, they're not. I made them myself." Aza tugs down the turtleneck collar of his shirt, showing the beginnings of a large,  _intricate_ sigil starting just under his chin. Martin can't help his jaw dropping open. "They all work, Martin. It's not the sigils' fault if their user cannot control them."

Martin doesn't have anything to say to that, so he simply levels a glare at Aza. But his eyebrows are aching from all the glaring he's doing, so he sighs and turns back around, reaching up and pinching the wick. He hesitates, closing his eyes to shut out the currents of magic floating around him. He can't help but notice the eerie  _lacking_ of magic coming from where Aza is sitting. A blank space. A void.

Ignoring that, he takes a deep breath, feeling the prickle of the unfamiliar sigil on his chest. It's large and too intricate to even begin to replicate. Aza called it a one-of-a-kind. Martin still can't figure out how it  _changes_. Sigils are supposed to be static, only changing if they're interrupted. But this one does. This one shifts and moves, almost as if it's alive. He hates it.

But whether he likes it or not, that sigil is there on his chest. He feels the empty void, first, where his normal magic can't touch. And second, he can detect the barest hints of... He's not even sure what it is supposed to feel like. One second, it's an old, forgotten language, whispering to him. The next moment, it's like wet sand slipping through his fingers to fall back into the sea. And then, it's something ancient, something old and jaded, and it doesn't like him.

He snags at the feeling and  _pulls_ , and snaps his fingers.

When he opens his eyes, the candle is flickering, the fire wavering with his soft breaths.

"Perfect," Aza praises, clapping slowly. Each clap makes the fire flinch and Martin inhales, desperately trying to keep ahold of it. But it's like the tighter he grasps, the more it wriggles to escape. A few seconds later, the flame puts itself out, a spiral of smoke rising into the air from its absence. "In a couple years' time, you'll be good as my four-year-old daughter."

Martin growls and turns on him. "You said it yourself, I'm not supposed to be using this magic, anyway! Stop fucking patronizing me."

Aza comes up to him and lights the wick, letting the light flicker in the dark room. He passes his fingers through it and it moves like liquid, rising up instead of running down. "Martin, this magic isn't stagnant like your world's. It won't listen to you unless it wants to."

"You say that as if it's a living thing. Magic isn't living. It's just there."

Aza snorts a laugh and shakes his head, swiping his hand through the flame. It doesn't go out. "Don't be stupid. Of course, it is," he says, directing his cold gaze to Martin. In the light, his face looks unnatural. All different angles, and all the sharp there-but-not shadows, they move unnaturally, like a marionette tugged by strings. His glamour catches in the light of his own magic and flickers. Aza gives him a tight smile. It falls when Martin doesn't say anything.

He glances back at the desk, with Martin following his gaze to the box of cigarettes. Aza scoffs and snatches them up before Martin can grab them. "I told you to stop smoking."

"Well,  _that_ sigil didn't work," Martin hisses, trying to grab them back. And despite Aza being much shorter than him, he can still somehow hold them out of Martin's reach. All this other-world magic is really starting to get on his nerves. 

"Then you're going cold-turkey. I can't have you getting cancer."

"What's that?"

Aza pauses, then frowns down at him. "Right. I forgot you guys don't have that. Lucky sons of bitches." He pulls open the box and takes one out, inhaling through it. The cigar looks comically big in his hand. He doesn't even blink when it lights. A moment passes and he lets out the smoke, humming. "Alright, yeah, I can see why you smoke them."

"I-"

Aza puts the cigar out on his horn and Martin stands up from his chair, bristling in fury. "How dare-"

That's when Aza reaches up, snags the bottom curve of his left horn, and pulls him down to his eye-level. Martin ends up on one knee, teeth bared. "Martin," Aza whispers, and there's this rumbling in his voice that wasn't there before, "I'm trying to get you ready for what is going to happen. You and I both know five years is  _not_ long. You have very little time left to spend with your family. Very little time to train, and to even get  _near_ how ready you need to be."

"If I have so little time to spend with my family, why did you kill Seto in the first place?" Martin growls, voice just as low. He doesn't show it, but Aza's empty, dead-eyed expression is  _terrifying_. Something lurks behind his pupils, something far more powerful than Aza lets on. 

"I didn't," Aza says simply. He yanks on Martin's horn, jerking his head to the side. Martin hisses, growling low in his chest. "Martin, I have risked my life, and many others' lives, just to bring your son back. I have pulled  _so many_ strings." He gives Martin's head another shake. "And I want some god damn  _thanks_ for all the work I've done to keep your family together. Like it or not, Martin, you were born  _solely_ to fulfill a higher purpose."

"I'm not some- Some character in a story, Aza," Martin spits, but remains entirely still. It's probably against his will, but he can't tell when Aza uses magic on him.

"No, you're right. You're not. You're not the main character, you're not the protagonist, you're not anything like that. But you  _are_ the glue keeping a very large, complex, and endless puzzle together. This isn't some story or any other shitty metaphor you could pull out of your ass. This is real life, and there are things out there that could  _blink_ _you out of existence_ if they wanted. Hell,  _I_ could do that, and you wouldn't be able to raise a hand in protest, because you'd already be gone. I am trying my _damnedest_ to make sure your remaining free years are happy. After that, I'm not sure  _what_ you'll be able to do."

"I won't be some prisoner-" Aza shakes his head. Hard. Effectively shutting Martin up. He draws him closer, making Martin fall to both his knees. In the candlelight, Aza's eyes go blank, for one second, white-hot with fury.

"You already are. You were _born_ into it, Martin. You were _born_ a caged animal, and that's how you will remain until someone decides to let you keel over and rot back into the earth. You will outlive  _everyone_ you love. You will see your brother, your son, your family, your friends- You will see them all grow old, and wither away, and die, just as everyone else does. And you will be as you are. Alive, and young, and healthy. You will not die until someone higher up  _allows_ it."

Aza finally shoves Martin away, taking a few steps back and straightening his clothes. "And I will outlive you, and then I will find the next person to hold this puzzle together, and they will go through all the same shit you are. _That's_ how things will go."

Martin remains on the floor, glaring up at him. Silence reigns for a long moment. Aza takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff, and his posture relaxes. "Tell Seto he has nothing to worry about. Teach him English. And tell him to go along with the story. Don't answer any questions, don't let him in on our deal, all the usual shit."

"I won't lie to my family."

Aza turns around, not even glancing back over his shoulder. "Check your wrist, Martin. You've bound yourself to my word. I wrote out the deal, I wrote out both of our ends. And you accepted and signed it. You  _cannot_ tell them without breaking our contract."

He takes a few steps and finally turns his head slightly, still not even looking at him. "And you know what happens if you do that."

And Aza is gone.

Martin is left sitting on the floor, staring at the empty space where he'd just been. He glances down at his arms, holding his right hand with his left. And there, tattooed just under the start of his palm, following the artery line, is a length of a sigil. He doesn't need to translate it to know its meaning.

Break contract, kill Seto. That's it. He runs a thumb over the markings, shivering at the feel of foreign magic. "Right," he whispers, getting to his feet. "Alright."


	34. take a deep breath, it's always sunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: drinking, suicidal thoughts, vomit and generally unhealthy everything. haha whoops

 

[i take my pills and i'm happy all the time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TF5-mDTYqdA)

 

* * *

* * *

 

There's a knock at his door. Knowing Martin would never knock, Nitram bookmarks his page and shuts the book, calling for Seto to come in.

He does a moment later, cracking the door open and glancing around inside before slipping in and shutting it behind him. "Do you know where Martin is?" he asks quietly.

Nitram blinks. And pushes aside any sort of jealous feelings. After his mother's death, the kid's definitely bonded more with Martin than him. Still. "Had a meeting with Masikae about the- camps."

At this, Seto frowns. "Those are still going?"

Nitram thinks for a moment before responding. What is happening to humans is horrible in its own right. There's no getting past it - those of the west are monsters. But Seto can't expect Martin to completely turn a whole system on its heels. He's already started freeing several humans that Nathaniel had previously owned. That, or at least giving them better living conditions and actual rights. Eventually, he tells Seto this, and the kid doesn't look at all happy. "Why can't he just ban the  _breeding_ camps then? They cut babies' tongues out, Nitram, I-"

"He's trying, Seto." Memories of the east rile his feathers. He would never have spoken to anyone like that, especially someone a good nine centuries his senior. But Kerberos hadn't raised him like mothers of the east usually would. He takes a deep breath to prevent from snapping at Seto. "He is. Unfortunately, Junys owns those, and the majority of the human population. Most humans you see are on rent."

Seto makes a weird face, then shakes his head. "Never mind. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"So you didn't want to know where Martin was?"

"I was just... making sure he wasn't here." Seto fidgets with the hem of his shirt and glances back at the bedroom door. Nitram sighs and sits up straight. He's hesitant to pat the bed next to him. That's something a parent would do, right? But technically, he's just Seto's uncle and not a father. What would an uncle do, then? He doesn't have any of his own for reference. None that had talked to him, anyway. 

"What's wrong, then?" He gestures to the desk chair and Seto seems relieved to sit on it. His tail curls around one of the bars and flicks wildly for a second.

"Where did I come from?"

That... was not a question he'd been expecting. Upon seeing his face, Seto's cheeks redden. "God, not like that, fucking hell. Like- Mom brought me over here? Why?"

"Oh. Well she-" At this, Nitram pauses, struggling. Something doesn't  _click_ right. He momentarily feels like he's drugged, or in a haze, then he shakes the feeling away. "She went to the east to conduct... research." It's a better term than  _spying_ , considering how low that is during war. "She-" 

Again. A pause. Seto looks worried but expectant. "She passed, Seto. Remember? She asked us to care for you."

"That's..." Seto looks away, troubled, but doesn't continue his train of thought. "That's it? Who killed her?"

At this, he has to think. Why is he struggling with this so much? He's not old by any means - hell, he's not even middle-aged yet, far from it. His mother only started deteriorating after a good forty centuries. He knows that dementia is somewhat hereditary, but he really should not be this troubled by a few simple memories. "Natural causes," he says eventually, and Seto looks heartbroken. It was a while ago that it happened. Perhaps he'd blocked out the memory? "I'm sorry, Seto."

Seto stares at him for a long, long moment, eyes wide. "Natural causes?" he asks, and there's this hint of disbelief in his tone. "Are you... sure? When did it happen? Where was she? Was I with her? Jordan?"

"Jordan?" Nitram echoes, and curses himself when Seto looks to be on the verge of tears. The name sounds important. Shouldn't he know it?

"My brother? He- passed after I came up here from the Ground?"

"You were never on the Ground." That, he can be sure of. "Your mother was spying on Nathaniel, specifically. Staging as one of his-" He stops himself, and frowns, because he can't ever remember Kerberos with wings. But that doesn't... matter. "As one of his handlers."

"Handlers?"

"Yes, those that make sure humans are doing what they are supposed to." The words taste vile in his mouth and he scrunches his face up as if he'd eaten something sour. Seto goes quiet; Nitram can't blame him.

They sit like that for a long time. He tries to think back to Kerberos' parting words, but just- Can't. They aren't there. He  _knows_ they happened, knows she passed away on a hospital bed, withered away from- From-... Withered away. He'd been there when it had happened. He and Martin both. They'd dropped the act just to see her pass, just so she could know that her son would be safe. 

And he is! Seto's thriving. He's got friends, they've taught them to the best of their abilities, and he's fed, he has a place to sleep, and a roof over his head. He's thriving. He's alive, and alright, and-

Isn't he?

He looks back up at Seto to find the kid staring at him still. The intensity in his gaze surprises Nitram for a second. "Are you alright?" he asks, quietly, and Seto's frown hardens.

"Nitram, where was I the past few months?"

At this, Nitram draws a blank. And try as he might - no matter how many times he starts to say something - he cannot, for the  _life_ of him, come up with an answer. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "I- I... You-"

"Where was I?" Seto stands up, and he's starting to look panicked. Ntiram wants to get up as well, comfort him, or maybe send a message to Martin telling him to come home, but he just... can't. His mind wants to come up with some excuse, try to bring reason and logic, but something in his heart just  _aches_ and he can't ignore either of them. "You-"

"Nitram. You're scaring me. I was dead, remember? I died. I- I've only been back a week."

"Died? Now that's just absurd, Seto." Nitram finally seems to gain some control over himself and he gets to his feet, reaching out to put a hand on Seto's shoulder. God, has he grown. He's up to Nitram's chest at this point, though the growth spurt has slowed over the months. "You- You must have been here... Where else could you have been?"

Seto looks at him for a long, long time. Those pinprick eyes look unnatural, but in the dim light Nitram can just make out a ring around the iris, a hint of lavender. Strange. Someone else has that eye color, but Nitram can't remember who... 

"I- I need to go," Seto says, backing away and quickly ducking out of Nitram's reach. "I'm going over to Ethan's."

"Um. Okay- Be back before supper!" He's pretty sure Seto hears him, though the kid is already halfway out of the house at that point. Nitram sighs and sits back down on his bed, glancing at the book he'd set aside. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, picking it back up and getting to his feet. Shelving it back in its place, he glances around the room, frowning. A headache is starting to form right behind his forehead. Groaning, he reaches up to rub his temples, but his cool nails don't do anything to lessen the ache.

Ambling downstairs, he heads for the washroom and pulls open the medicine cabinet. Grabbing the bottle of painkillers, he shuts it, and is faced with his reflection. He looks exhausted, and he needs to shave. And saw off those horns; they're starting to grow in again. Thinking about Martin and how he's growing his back out, Nitram unscrews the cap and drops a few of the pills into his palm. Then he swings the mirror back open, pushes the bottle back, and grabs the two others.

Rattling the bottles and realizing he'd probably need to stop by and visit Baki again, he pours out the prescriptions and heads for the kitchen.

A few slices of lunch meat is good enough. He fills a glass with water, eats the snack, and takes the pills with a gulp. And then he stands there, leaning against the counter, staring down at the ground. He aches to grab the bottle of whiskey on the bottle rack, and his eyes slowly gravitate toward it. Something tells him that he's broken his sobriety streak. But he doesn't...  _remember_ being drunk, or even filling a glass. And he can tell with just a glance that everything is still there, sitting in the shelves.

But that's not right, he thinks. He definitely had a drink between a few months ago and now. But- He keeps  _tabs_ on that. Even if he  _did_ forget drinking, there would still be something missing from the rack.

Despite mentally willing himself not to, he goes for the rack and opens the glass door, scanning the shelves. Nothing's out of place. It's starting to collect dust. No bottles have been disturbed, and they all look more or less untouched.

The door creaks as Martin comes in the house. Nitram doesn't look up, but calls out, "Did I... Drink anything lately, Martin?"

"No." There's something in Martin's tone. "Why do you ask?"

He glances over to find his brother hanging his coat up, shaking his feathers to settle them in a more comfortable position. Martin tugs his shoes off before stepping onto the hardwood floor and pads over to join him at the bottle rack. He glances over it and looks at Martin, his expression showing  _worry_. "Are you alright?"

"I... Yeah." He shuts it. Snaps the latch into place, but his hand stays on the metal lock. "Yeah," he says after a moment, coughing to clear a lump in his throat (Why is he so upset?) and goes to drink from his glass again. Martin stares at him for another long moment, expression unreadable. And that  _scares_ Nitram. They've been together since birth; Nitram could read Martin's silence like a book, can pick up details and secrets he wouldn't verbally share. And he knows Martin can do the same, can see the trouble in his eyes and the confusion in his brows. But when Nitram looks at Martin, his expression is just-

Blank.

And that's terrifying. Martin stands in front of him, but he feels as if he has lost something. 

So he changes the subject. "How's Pakka doing?"

"Oh! Really well, actually. He's taken to calling me Pa, which- You know, I guess. I don't have enough scales for it, but still." Martin seems glad to drop the subject and that hurts. Nitram watches him pull out things for sandwiches. "But he's doing much better. I'm trying to teach him to speak, but it's difficult. He doesn't really seem willing to learn. Only way I get him to say anything other than Pa and Hungry is if I give him a treat before he does so. Even then, he cheats me out of food half the time."

Nitram tunes him out, turning back to glance at the liquor cabinet. Martin continues to talk - something about how Jeremiah is trying to get to Junys' advisor, but not having much luck with it. Eventually, after Nitram can't stand much more, he mumbles some excuse about going to visit Baki, and takes his leave.

The wind is cool on his skin and he regrets not bringing a jacket, but it's a short flight to their new island. They had asked if it could be moved closer - and hell, Nitram was fine with it. Martin, not so much, but they still ended up pretty close.

It's no surprise that Baki isn't home, but Simon invites him inside anyway. They recline on the couch and Simon offers a cigarette, which Nitram takes after a hesitant second. "So how's the kid doing?" Simon asks, exhaling smoke. It curls up around his face before he waves it away with a dismissive swipe of his hand.

Nitram pauses. Why would Simon ask about a half-... About... That's right, he's worried about Seto. No fledgling should have to go through a parents' death. And besides, Baki has been the doctor they'd gone to for the past few years for Seto. "Oh, he's alright. He's been hanging out with that other fledgling, Ethan, for a while now."

Simon snorts a laugh. "That vampire, really? Huh. I didn't take him as the social type."

"You'd be surprised." They sit in silence for a long while, until Nitram sighs and glances around. Simon looks over at him but says nothing. He reaches to put the cigar out, then lights another. 

"Alright. What's buggin' you?"

Tapping ashes out into the ashtray, Nitram meets his eyes. For a second, he tries to build up a facade, but it quickly falls at Simon's glare. He stays quiet, finishing the smoke and then holding out a hand for another. Simon lights it for him.

"Martin's been acting weird."

"Is he sick? Are you?"

"No, and- no." Not physically, at least. But Simon doesn't know and he isn't the best with that sort of stuff. "But he's just been... strange, lately. I'm not sure why. He won't talk to me." 

Simon whistles and reclines further in the couch. "Now that- That is weird."

Nitram mumbles an agreement and nods, but the room is starting to sway because of the silverwillow. Still, he takes another drag. Simon thinks for a moment before hiking a shoulder up. "I dunno what to tell you. I could give you romantic relationship advice, but uh-"

"Fuck no." Nitram sends him a glare and is tempted to put the cigarette out on his arm. Simon laughs and elbows his arm, trying to rid the room of the depressed air. He turns serious after a moment, though, when it's obvious Nitram won't laugh along.

"You should talk to Baki about it. He's better about that sort of stuff." 

And that's about as much as Nitram will get from Simon in the terms of advice. "Yeah, that's why I came here today." He glances toward the window. "How long will he be?"

"Not long," Simon answers, pulling in a long drag of smoke before continuing, "What with that new staff members he's got, he's been getting more time off. Tell Martin I said thanks for that, by the way. Hard to see my boyfriend when he's working all the time."

"Yeah, I could only imagine." Nitram glances toward the kitchen and puts his cigarette out. "You got anything to drink?"

"You know where it is." Simon waves a vague gesture toward the kitchen and Nitram stands. He hesitates once he sees the few bottles on the counter. He grabs one of his taste and stares at the label. Thinks about his collection at home. Thinks about pouring it all out. Thinks about not unscrewing this cap, and staying sober, as he had been the past few months. 

But then he's reaching up and taking a glass from the cabinet, and pouring himself a shot, and that's gone before he can think about it too much. On his third shot, Simon wanders in, laughs, and gets another shot glass out. He takes three in quick succession, then they match each other drink for drink until Simon gives up and wobbles back over to the couch.

Nitram still stands at the counter, swaying, gripping the marble to keep him upright. "Y- Y'know?" he calls, and Simon grunts back at him. "I was sober."

"Shit, man." But Simon is a quiet drunk, and that's probably all Nitram will get out of him. The thought makes him giggle and he slaps a hand over his mouth. But that makes him pitch backward and he ends up stumbling into the fridge and sliding down to sit on the floor. "Been bad lately," he says to no-one. Simon mumbles something, but he's a lightweight and Nitram's tolerance is strong. He ends up crawling to the counter to grab a new bottle down. 

Martin will be disappointed, he thinks, as he gulps another drink. But Nitram can't  _stand_ this anymore. He feels so wrong. Like he'd misplaced something; like he'd forgotten something so terribly important. Martin shutting him out, the headache that forms when talking to Seto, the whole- The whole upheaving of all their secrets- Everything is just  _wrong_ and he can't take it anymore, he can't do this all the time.

He's fine. Really.

Nitram takes another swig and mumbles something to himself, some sort of reassurance that even his own ears don't understand. But it makes him feel better.

Slowly staggering to his feet, he wobbles and stumbles his way over to the couch, but doesn't really reach it, so he ends up slumped at the coffee table, his head in his arms. "Sim'n?" he asks, vision swimming when he tries to look over at his friend. "What's- What's wrong w' me?"

But Simon's passed out already, head lolled back on the top of the couch cushion. Nitram stares numbly for a second, then breaks out into snorting laughter. 

He wonders what his mother might think of him now.

The thought saddens him, but does nothing to sober him up. It makes him want to drink more. So he does, because now is the only time he'll feel something right, feel some sort of remorse, even though none of this is his fault.

In that moment, he feels like he's  _burning_ inside because this well of hatred grows in his chest and he knows that Martin is- Martin is the  _only_ one to blame for everything that happened. They had everything set out for them! Nitram was betrothed, and he loved Shurin, and he was going to be a king, was going to lead his people as he'd always wanted. He had a loving family and a place in the world. But now he's just- He's just some  _wingsmith_ in the west, brother of a General that nobody but a select few actually likes. Now he's nearly purposeless, like an empty tagalong that someone brought with them thinking they might need it. 

He downs the rest of the bottle. Nitram reaches up to wipe snot and tears from his face with the back of his hand. He hears a door open, and keys drop onto the ground. But he can't stand to look over at Baki, see even more disappointment in those eyes. He tips the bottle back again, forgetting he'd already emptied it. There's a sigh but he still doesn't look over. Nobody can match the disappointment that he feels for himself, but Baki  _can_ come close. 

"Yer my only friend," Nitram says as Baki hefts him up onto the armchair. He feels fingers poke at his wing ports and he rolls his shoulders and tugs at the magic. The feathers lose feeling and Baki folds them away, setting them aside. "Martin won't... talk ta me anymore. Seto don't like me all that much."

"I'm sure that's not true." Baki's voice is soft, yet firm, and Nitram's reminded that he's a doctor. "How much have you had?"

He pulls at Nitram's eyebrow, but he can't focus his eyes on the doctor's face. He tries to bat his hands away, but Baki is stubborn, and not drunk. With a sigh, Nitram is left alone for a moment as he goes to get a glass of water.

It's not what Nitram wants to drink, but he does. "B- It's true," he slurs, words fumbling on a numb tongue. "Laz won't talk ta me. I dunno what's wrong, maybe it's from Nathan'l? PTSD? Dunno. But I just- I can't do it an'more, Baki, Baki I can't."

He fumbles with the glass, realizing it's plastic. He's a grown man, he can handle breakable dishes. But once he's done drinking the water, it slips from his hand. Baki catches it before it hits the ground. Nitram rambles at him, sobs and cries and rolls his head back and forth. He hadn't been this far gone in a  _while_ , and _fuck_ , it's a relief. He hasn't been able to cry in a while, either, and Baki sits patiently, listening to him, not really interjecting, as he trips over his words and tries to pour his heart out the best he can.

When Nitram falls silent, and tips his head back, and closes his eyes, Baki shakes his shoulder. "Don't sleep yet."

"Wha?" Why?"

Baki gives a sidelong glance to the kitchen. "Because you've had more than two bottles, and I don't want you choking on your vomit. I don't have my tagalong with me, so I can't bring you to the hospital. Let me get you more water."

"Think 'm sick," Nitram says, though his stomach isn't all that upset at the moment. It was earlier, he realizes, but that's passed now. Time's blurry. "Think I'm sick."

"I'll get a bowl, too." Baki gets up and Nitram hears him going about the kitchen for a bit before bringing a few water bottles and a large bowl, as well as a trash can. "Have you been taking your meds?"

"That's the problem. They feel funny." They feel...  _not right_. "Not me."

Baki says something, but  _now_ his stomach is starting to churn. He ends up puking up all the liquid in his stomach into the trashcan, completely ignoring the bowl. Baki casts a glance at it. What for, Nitram couldn't imagine. Doctor thing, probably. He frowns, though. "What have you been eating?"

"Same shit," Nitram coughs, taking the offered bottle. Baki glances at him and puts a hand on his forehead, then presses at his throat in a few painful places. 

"Stay," Baki commands, and then points at the bottle when Nitram tries to set it down. "And drink the rest of that."

"Uh." He drinks it because Baki is  _scary_ when he's pissed. The doctor leaves for a metal cabinet, pulling out a tray. Nitram glances over at Simon. "He okay, too?"

"I already checked on him."

That stings, sort of. Nitram decides to be selfish for a bit. He deserves it, yeah? Why would Baki check on Simon, when it's so obvious that  _Nitram_ is the one that's in the most peril? He snarls at the water bottle and crunches it in his fists when he's done drinking it all. He feels like he might be sick again.

And then Baki is back. Nitram must have blacked out for a second because the prick of a needle is what brings him back. He glances down, confused, to find Baki drawing blood. "What up?"

"I'm just... checking," Baki mumbles, replacing the vial with a fresh one. Nitram watches it fill with blue. He wonders what Baki saw in the vomit that was so special. "Ain't deathbell?"

"Heavens, no. I'd be able to tell if that was the case." Nitram watches, numbly, as a third arm grows and grabs a cotton swab. As two work to take the needle out of his arm, the third starts packing up. Then another hand reaches out and presses to Nitram's temple. He leans away from the cold touch, realizing Baki has gloves on. How did he get gloves on the extra hands without him noticing?

A thermometer is stuck under his tongue suddenly. He blinks his eyes open to find Baki looking at him, concerned. He hears the distant wailing of his magic. "Wha?"

"It's... I don't think you're sick. But..." Baki doesn't look so sure of himself. Under normal circumstances, that should be terrifying. Baki's the best at what he does. And if he doesn't know what's wrong, then nobody else will. 

"Just- leave me, then," he groans, and tries to get up. Baki pushes him back down by his chest, but- He just wants to  _leave_. He needs to go home. Martin- Why hasn't Martin come around yet? It's almost dark; Nitram should've been home by now. "I wanna go home."

"I don't think that's a good idea right now." But he's already scrambling to his feet, shoving Baki away with his hands. He'ss saying something, but the words are unintelligible. Baki starts protesting, trying to grab him to push him back down.

Time leaves for a second. He's outside, running desperately for the edge of the island. His wings don't seem to really be responding, but that's fine, that's fine. He made them himself; they wouldn't fail him.

Then Baki is there in front of him, shouting, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Nitram hisses and thrashes, shoving him away again. "Let me go! Just- Just let me go. Let me go."

"Nitram, Nitram, let's go back inside. Inside, okay? We can talk about this. I- I'll get Martin over here, and we can talk, alright?" Baki looks panicked, and that's no good. Nitram's flown drunk before. Maybe not this bad, but he has before. And besides, his island is close by, it would be a short flight.

"I don't- don't wanna see 'im," Nitram hisses, and builds magic in his chest. When Baki tries to grab him again, he lets it out in a burst and it sends the doctor flying back, hitting the ground with a thud. While he's stunned, Nitram stumbles for the edge, staring down at the ocean. Something feels wrong; the wind isn't brushing against the wings he's spreading out. But that doesn't matter. He just wants to go home, to his bed, and curl away and not talk to anyone.

He leaps and tries to flap his wings. He just wants to go  _home_.

There's a scream above him, and then hands have him by the arm, and he's yanked back onto the island. Baki reaches up and grabs his throat, pinning him to the ground. Howling, Nitram tries to build magic again, tries to thrash and struggle, but Baki is  _shifting_ , and it's not just the arms. He's bigger, suddenly, stronger than any western angel should be. His face doesn't look right, as if it's melting away into something worse.

Nitram falls limp and sobs, "Wanna go home."

And then time blurs again. Nitram comes to in an unfamiliar room. He groans and rolls over, reaching out blindly for his dresser, for the trashcan he keeps beneath it. His hand hits a large can and he promptly pukes into it. Panting, and reaching up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, he glances around, confused. Where the hell  _is_ he?

His eyes drift down to the sick and he flinches back. It's not right. He hadn't had much to eat yesterday, he knows, but that doesn't explain the... The purple. It almost looks like a physical form of magic, but that's so hard to make, and he's never done it before, much less on accident. How would that... He shakes his head, and brushes it off.

A glance at the other side of the bed shows that there's a nightstand there, as well as a water bottle and a few painkillers. The hangover is already settling in. He takes them quickly and gets to his feet, crinkling his nose at his crumpled clothes. He gathers the trash bag and heads for the door.

Stumbling out into the hall, he hears talking. It abruptly cuts off when he comes out. Baki stands from the dining table, eyes showing worry, but posture showing calm. "Good, you're awake. I've sent word to Martin, he should be here in a bit."

"How long have I been out?"

"Through the night." Baki glances at Simon and sends him a glare.

Simon hunkers down slightly, looking rightfully ashamed. "I didn't know it'd get so out of hand," he mumbles, and Nitram feels sick to his stomach again. It's not like he's some fledgling that needs constant supervision. He's an adult, and he can take care of himself.

"Well, I'll be going now." Nitram glances around and drops the trash bag in the can. His wings are laid on the couch and he goes over to pull them on. 

"Actually, Nitram, I wanted to talk to you for a second. Simon?" 

With a sigh, Simon gets to his feet and grumbles as he heads for a different room. Nitram watches him go, then turns to Baki. "What? I'm sorry about... last night. I didn't mean-" 

Baki gestures at a chair at the table. "Just sit down, Nitram."

Well, he sits down, trying to keep his feathers from bristling. He tries to think back to last night, but can't really remember much. Baki was there, at one point. He probably said some shit he shouldn't have.

Before Baki could even start, Nitram cuts in. "You don't need to worry. I'm fine. That was just- a mistake, that's all. I'm alright."

His friend looks at him for a long, long moment. Then he sighs, and says, "Nitram, you tried to jump off my island last night."

Nitram freezes, mouth hanging open for a second, and he can't- God when did that happen? "I... I'm sure it was a mistake."

Baki stares. Those eyes are worried and tired. "I can't let you leave until Martin gets here. Hell, I- I should be bringing you to the hospital right now, Nitram. You don't have deathbell, I can tell, but-"

"No, I'm- I'm fine." He stands up, pushing the chair back. Baki, looking exhausted, gets up as well, and Nitram realizes he's between him and the door. "It was an accident."

Sure, he's unhappy. But not like  _that_. Really. He's fine. But he resigns himself to sit and wait for his brother, taking the offered toast and eggs and more water. It doesn't do much to help with the headache, and he starts to feel sicker halfway through the meal. But Baki gives him a glare when he tries to push the plate away.

Martin arrives about two hours after he'd woken up. Nitram doesn't look at him. Just gets up, thanks Baki and Simon for the hospitality, and starts out the door. He doesn't give Martin and Baki time to talk.

When they're in the air, he notices Martin flies somewhat behind and below him. Heaving a sigh, Nitram shakes his head and pulls away further. But he hears the whistle through metal feathers come closer and he scowls. 

When they land, Pakka is there. He stops short in the air, nearly making Martin collide with him. "Why is he-?"

"He broke out somehow. Followed me home. I figured that this is better than having him locked in that island." Martin alights down next to Pakka, nearly being bowled over by the over-excited dragon. Nitram stands back, watching the reunion. Seto comes out of the house, looking at Pakka warily. The dragon coils around Martin and regards Seto with an equally careful eye.

"Pakka, you remember Seto, right?"

"Small-feather-thing, yes," Pakka answers, turning his head to huff into the back of Martin's hair. "Small-feather-hatchling, yours, yes?"

"Yes, that's right."

When Nitram approaches with a hand held out, Pakka ignores it and ends up licking a stripe of saliva up Nitram's chest and face. "Same-but-not-Pa."

Chuckling, Martin untangles himself, pushing one of Pakka's wings out of the way to duck out from under it. Pakka whines and huffs unhappily, head jittering back and forth. "Hungry? Fish?"

"I'll get you something to eat in a bit," Martin promises, "Go explore."

"Island!" And with that, Pakka lifts off into the air, his tail and wings kicking up dust and wind. The three of them watch him wind into the trees, wings steering him through the air.

Finally, Seto glances at Martin. "Have you told Ethan and the other kids?"

"Shit."

"I'll get it." Seto takes off quickly as if he was a spring just waiting for an excuse to uncoil. Nitram is left to stand with Martin in silence.

Finally, he looks up from the dirt to find Martin glaring at him.  _Talk._

"Nothing's wrong."

"Obviously, that's not right." Martin, all bristle and edges, hisses a sigh through his sharp teeth. "I'm minding my own business, taking care of shit, when I get a messenger hawk stating that you're  _drunk_ and you tried to jump off Baki's island without wings. How in the world is that  _alright_?"

"Martin, it was a mistake." He feels like he's drowning. He wishes he remembered the previous night. "And I'm fine."

"Are you?"

Something in Martin's tone makes him  _snap_ and he stalks forward a few paces to jab at his brother's chest. "How would you know? Hm? You've barely spoken to me in two months, and now you're just- I can't understand you anymore, Martin. You-"

Martin smacks his hand away and backs up a few steps. His glare is steady and strong, and his jaw is tight, screaming  _Do not touch me_. Nitram scowls back, but no matter how hard he searches he can't find anything behind Martin's eyes. "Don't pin this on me, Nitram." His voice is cold. "I've done nothing wrong-"

"How can you say that?" They're just going in circles, dancing around the problem like they always do. Nitram's so  _tired_ of this, and now he starts to wonder if the jump last night hadn't been a mistake, after all. Martin must see this thought in his expression, because he softens.  "I... I'm sorry, Nitram, alright? Let's just- Let's just..."

But that's not helping. Nitram doesn't need  _pity_. He doesn't need soft tones and false comfort. But he's not sure what he needs, either. So he backs off and hisses something about getting work done in the smith, and he takes off to the tagalong island.

Martin doesn't follow him.

Nitram shoves his way into the shop and paces at the workstation, feeling the phantom tail snapping side to side in anger. He stops and glances toward the prototype he had built a month ago and dropped. Snarling, he reaches and grabs the end of it, and slings it into the opposite wall. The delicate workings shatter somewhat, but it doesn't break to pieces like he wants it to. So he rushes it, snatching it from the ground and slamming it repeatedly into the desk, screaming obscenities all the while.

And when the metal tail is just bent and warped scrap, he goes for a wingset they'd never finished, and tears the feathers from it, snapping them with fire and sparks and his hands. It burns his palms so he spears them into the ground and screams and goes to the desk. 

Shoving everything off of it and onto the floor, Nitram pauses suddenly, leaning heavily on the wood. Stares down at old scratches on the unpolished surface, and snarls, and blows fire at it. The desk splinters under the heat and he puts the flames out with a smear of ice from his hands. The water melts and he's left standing over a ruined desk, chest shaking with held-back sobs. 

What is  _wrong_ with him?

"I don't know," he answers, staring down at his fists. He bangs the left one against the table, then reaches up, and tugs on his hair. "I don't know anymore."


	35. your story is not your own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a filler chapter, sorry folks. shit will pick up again pretty quickly. also, the drawing took me a few weeks, but i figured that since yall have seen martin, ya might as well want to see our dear boy seto

His breath puffs out in plumes as he walks through the woods. Iced-over leaves and plants crunch underfoot.

Seto pauses when he hears something, looking around until he spots the animal. The deer has four eyes and two extra front legs. Its ears are trained forward, staring over at him. A few other deer pause and lift their heads from the ground. One stops chewing. Seto exhales and they go bounding off, disappearing quickly into the woods. He continues on, the opposite direction of where they went. The plants glow brightly in the night, illuminating his path and helping him traverse the dark forest. He stops at a pond, kicking a rock in. But it's too shallow for his liking, so he passes it up.

He's in an area of the island that he's not too familiar with. Sure, he's explored the island before, but he's never gone past the lake. Now, he's closer to Ethan's house than Martin's. 

Pakka is tumbling around in the lake as he passes, staying will within the treeline. The dragon stops terrorizing fish long enough to bugle a hello, then dives back under. Seto smiles a bit, then hurries on. He does  _not_ want to get caught in the sink hole. 

Testing each step for ground that's too spongey, he finally finds a pool. It's hidden in a slight gulley, with rocks surrounding the edges. Lily pads float calmly on the still water, a few flowers giving off spots of light that float around like fireflies. Seto kicks off his shoes and socks, stepping down into it.

The water is cold, making him pause. After sitting there for a moment, he grows used to it, and sucks in a deep breath.

Going under is more of a shock than he thought it would be. He kicks off from the rocks at the edge, swimming down and down. He underestimated how deep the water was. he has to come up from air before he reaches the bottom. Gasping, he treads water for a moment, then holds his breath and dives back under. Kicking hard and snapping his tail, he manages to reach the bottom this time. The silt clouds up when he lands in it. He digs his fingers into it, holding onto weeds and dirt to keep him at the bottom. 

Finally, he squints open his eyes, blinking rapidly despite being ready for the sting. Seto lets bubbles out through his nose when the water starts getting too annoying. He looks up, hair floating around his face and getting in his vision for a second. The moon is high above him, shimmering and distorted from the water. His lungs aren't burning, yet, but they should be soon. Being an angel has its perks, at least; he's probably been under for a good five minutes already.

Seto tears his eyes from the surface and curls into a ball, floating, and tugs at his ears. They're more pointed than they had been a year ago. He's not sure why he's growing like this. Why it took him so long to come into his eastern genes. The confusion doubles and he scrunches his eyes shut, shaking his head. His chest is starting to hurt from holding his breath for so long. 

But he doesn't  _care_. He can't keep all this frustration inside like he is.

So he  _screams_ , bubbles flying out and around him like a flurry of hornets. They roll up his cheeks and face, spinning toward the surface. He screams until nothing else comes out, and the urge to inhale grows too great for him to stay under any longer.

Kicking off from the bottom, he speeds to the surface, bursting out of the water with a gasp. Choking, Seto coughs up water that had gotten into his mouth and throat, splashing to keep above the surface. The air is cold, but he doesn't find it too uncomfortable. 

Seto looks upward again, eyes searching the clear night sky. The water glows from the plants and algae in and on it, and it looks rather pretty.

The sight calms him and he keeps treading water, head tilting back. He feels his hair tangling around the ends of his horns, but he ignores it. Finally, after his energy seems to be spent up, he kicks his feet out and starts floating.

He takes a deep breath, arms pushing through the water to keep him up. Lily pads and pondweeds cling to the rocks surrounding him, glowing green and blue in the moonlight. He stares up at the sky, eyes flicking across the constellations. And he knows them. But the information that surfaces feels... artificial, just like all the false-memories filling his head now.

His mom dying. Her last words. It's not that messy of a death, not the burning and bubbling of flesh, and a tall man standing above her. He doesn't remember who that angel is. But now, when he thinks of her death, that isn't the image to surface in his mind. He can't remember what burning flesh and hair smells like. He only remembers her weak, shaking hand clasping his, promising him that things will be okay. Her voice, it's still hers, but it's...  _off_ , sort of. Not entirely alive, not entirely artificial. Something in-between. 

She promised things will be okay. Two men, brothers, twins, stand aside, respectively quiet, as she shares her last moment with her only son. Him. He's... He's thirteen, maybe, he can't remember that clearly. She tells him the princes will take care of him. They can be trusted, she knows of them and they of her. She knows it's the best chance Seto has.

He takes a deep, wavering breath, trying to cling to what actually happened. Tries and fails to think of his brother's face. Their house on the Ground. Of when she passed, and Jordan took up raising him. Teaching him to cook, helping with homework, trying to teach him to drive. Tried to walk him through how to be an adult when he was still struggling with it himself. 

But those memories are slipping away, even as Seto tries to hold them in his head. They're replaced with the unfamiliarity of a new house, of a room that isn't yet personalized. They're replaced with the first time he, Nitram and Martin all sat down for dinner, and how that had been silent, and uncomfortable. He remembers, now, going to Baki for check-ups, and thinking Simon was so cool with those scars. How he decided to stop going to school, to be home-taught. 

They're all... false memories. They feel distant. Like he's reading a book, instead of living it. Or watching a movie, or... on a phone. What's- No, he has a phone. It's in his room, in his drawer, and he has pictures of his old life, still. 

Right?

Seto takes a deep breath and feels the churning of magic inside him. When he closes his eyes, he feels the strings, and he pulls them underneath him so he can float easily. Resting his hands on his stomach, he opens his eyes to stare up at the stars and moon again. 

Something rustles down by his feet and he lifts his head, water streaming from his hair. Pakka crouches at the edge of the pool, eyes glowing in the dark. "Small-thing?" the dragon rumbles, curiously poking his nose in the water, then snorting and shaking his head. "Cold-small-thing?"

"No, I'm not cold." 

Pakka blinks at him, then slithers into the water, curling around him and holding him up out of the water with a wing. The dragon has grown since Seto first saw him. He thinks of more recent false-memories. Joining Martin when he went to visit the dragon, helping teach him how to speak. 

"Cold," Pakka insists, chittering. His breath is hot against Seto's chilled skin and he laughs when the dragon pushes whiskers into his face. Pushing them away, he sits up, rolling over to sit on Pakka's back. His feet dip into the water and he looks up at the sky. "What do you think is out there?"

"Out there? Sky-sparks, sky-fire. Cold-light." Pakka raises his head as well, listing off the things he's seen in the sky. "Wet-fluff. Storms."

"No, like... Like, out in space?" He tries to think about some... program, he'd wanted to join when he was older. Man-made space explorers. But when he tries to think past anything else like that, it all... slips away.

He smiles, sadly. It's probably for the best. "Like, other planets and stars? Galaxies?"

Pakka warbles and twists to look at him. "What mean?"

"I mean... there could be life out there. And we wouldn't know about it. Creatures like us, maybe. Or maybe something entirely different."

Pakka casts a scrutinizing glance upward again and snorts. "No more, small-thing."

"But-"

Paka turns his front half around and grips the sides of his head with two large paws, staring down at him. His eyes reflect the glow, and for a second, Seto is struck with the thought that Pakka is  _highly_ intelligent. Those eyes are almost like any other angels', holding emotions and thoughts behind him. He's stunned into silence. Pakka seems to consider his words, then murmurs, "No more, small-thing. No more out-there."

Unable to properly argue against that, Seto remains silent. After a handful of minutes, Pakka crawls out of the pond. Seto clings to the mane of fur going down his spine as he shakes himself out like a dog. "Small-thing go home?"

He can't help the distance and absent-mindedness in his tone. "Yeah, let's go home."

With that, Pakka lifts off the ground. It isn't like self-propelled flight. It's not like when Seto has to launch himself off the dirt. Pakka just... rises, like a balloon, and then they snap off like a whip, twisting and twining through the woods. Previous emotions pushed aside, Seto laughs and crouches low on Pakka's neck, whooping when they break through the treetops and do a few loops through the air. 

He pauses to stop at another pond to drink, and Seto takes the time to wring out his wet clothes. Martin doesn't like him wandering the island without his wings - especially after that incident with the sink pit a year or so ago. Pakka draws his attention from the thoughts when he shakes and gurgles, "What-think?"

"Huh?" Seto leans over to find that Pakka somehow managed to catch a fish in the short time they'd been standing there. "Oh, good job. Maybe Martin won't have to feed you so much."

"No, hungry hungry." Pakka swallows the small fish whole and lifts into the air again. They reach the house without stopping, this time, and Pakka alights onto the roof. Seto scratches under his chin, earning a warbly purr, then bids the dragon goodnight. He climbs back in through his window and starts getting changed, hoping to hurry in case Martin or Nitram hear him moving around. It's not like he's really got a curfew, but-

A loud bang sounds from the room next to his and he jumps, quickly dropping his shirt and jumping into bed with only boxers on. He huddles under the blankets, holding his breath. But nobody opens his door. He relaxes and decides that it's warm and comfy under the covers, so he won't bother to get back up. 

In the room next to his, Nitram says something. Seto bites back his worry, staring over at the door. The angel has seemed... really bad lately. He's drunk more often than not. And Martin doesn't seem to want to do anything about it. It worries Seto, but he's just... not sure what to do. 

Shaking his head, he pulls the sheets over himself, and shuts his eyes tight.


	36. fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pov switches halfway through the chapter. sorry folks, its gotta happen for me to actually finish this damn chapter.  
> also, sorry it took me a bit of time to update. i've been getting stuck on these past few chapters, haha whoops. i apologize for how short this is, as well

When Seto wakes up, there are voices downstairs. Groggily, he sits up and rubs his eyes, squinting around the room. The clock hanging above his door says a quarter after five. Groaning, he flings the sheets off of him and goes to pull on clothes. The voices - there are definitely more than two - don't seem to be arguing. A meeting, maybe? That doesn't make all that much sense though. Once Martin fully healed, he started holding meetings in some building that Nathaniel used to own. That he now owns. It's still weird to think of Martin being the top General.

Sighing, Seto decides to dress well, but... casual. Business casual? No, because he's not really going to be  _in_  the meeting. Fine, alright, just his regular clothes and his flight jacket. Well, Martin's flight jacket. He still has to tuck in the front and roll up the sleeves, and the shoulders hang loose. But he's definitely filling into it. Which is weird, that growth spurt seems to have slowed down. He remembers being short, but... 

Shrugging the thought off, he pops on his wings and heads downstairs. To his surprise, an older woman and man, and two children probably around their thirties stand at the kitchen table, talking with Martin. The man is missing an eye and Seto recognizes him as another General, but can't place a name. 

As he comes down the stairs, the younger girl turns to smile at him. She looks like the General, so Seto assumes it's his daughter. The other two women are obviously related, but Seto doesn't think all four are in the same family. 

"-understand that. But if he won't come to the meeting, someone has to step up for him. His job can't just be swept under the rug like this," Martin is saying, jabbing at a few pieces of paper on the table. "Masikae, are you sure there's no way to bring him out of the goddamn house?"

"Believe me," the older woman says, sounding like she's had this conversation many times before. "I've tried. Really. If he doesn't want to do something, he won't. I've tried everything, General, but I know my brother."

If that's Masikae, then they're talking about Junys. That means the older man is probably Brian, from what Seto knows of the Generals.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, sucking in his stomach to stop it from growling. He's hungry; dinner last night wasn't all that good, considering Martin had made it. Nitram's the real cook in the house. 

The conversation goes on as he stands there. "And he has no children? No spouse to step in for him?"

At this, both Masikae and Brian shift uneasily. "No," Brian finally says, "Junys wasn't... really looking for anybody."

Martin stares at both of them for a long, hard minute, and he sighs, rubbing his face and looking back down at the letter. Seto goes up a step to try to see it, but can't make out what it says. He can tell the handwriting is sloppy, though. "The solstice is in three days. How are we supposed to even hold the festival without all twelve of us? Masikae, try again. Brian, I want you to go with her."

"He won't like seeing me." Brian shakes his head and pushes off the table and takes a step back as if getting ready to be attacked. "You know why."

Martin growls and looks aside, finally seeming to notice Seto. He nods, drawing the attention of the other three angels. They turn back to their meeting without saying anything. "I'll go, then," Martin says, standing to his full height. Seto never realized how much taller Martin is than the other Generals. 

"That's-"

"Not a good idea," Masikae finishes, sharing a glance with Brian. "He- General, he might try to kill you, I won't lie."

"Then you'll both come with me. Later today, noon. Meeting dismissed." With a wave of his hand, the other two angels sigh and relent. As three of the four exit, Brian's daughter stays back and turns to face Seto. She holds out a hand, smiling. "Sam," she says, "You're Seto, right?"

"Uh, yeah." He shakes her hand with slight hesitation. "Uhm, good to meet you?"

"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you." Sam glances over when Brian whistles for her. She waves then turns back to Seto. "Say, how about you and I have lunch? I bet you've never been to a solstice meeting, or the festival, so you'll definitely need someone who knows what's going on."

"A- A what?"

"Perfect." She pulls a slip of paper from her jacket, shoving it into his hands. "Meet me here at noon. Don't worry, I'll pay."

With that, Sam turns and bounds after her father, leaping into the air without so much as a wave.

Martin pats him on the shoulder. "Sorry about that, Seto. I didn't think we'd wake you. Well, as you heard, I have to leave before noon, so lunch will be on you."

"Actually," Seto says, smoothing out the crumpled piece of paper. "That girl, Sam, wanted me to have lunch with her. How old is she, anyway?"

"Twenty-nine," Martin answers, taking the paper and reading over the address. "This is on my route, I can show you there if you want. Just... be careful with her, Seto."

"Why?" Seto looks up to find Martin's face falling into confusion. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's... She's Brian's daughter." He says it as if that tells everything. When Seto blankly stares at him, realization and... fear, they mix into his orange eyes. "Oh. Oh, okay. Uh, forget I said anything, then, Seto. I'm... yeah, forget I said anything."

With that, Martin goes off, mumbling something under his breath and rubbing his wrist. Seto shakes his head and grabs a few boiled eggs from the fridge. Both of them have been acting so weird lately. He's honestly really worried about Nitram.

Going out to the porch, Pakka sidles up to him, giving the eggs a sidelong glance. Seto sighs and holds an unpeeled on out. Pakka quickly crunches it up, seeming to take his time with it. "Hungry hungry?"

"You could catch some animals around here," Seto tells him, thinking about the previous night. "There's fish, probably birds... probably some other creatures here, too."

Pakka snorts at this as if it's insulting. "No. No. Hungry hungry."

"Dunno what to tell you, then." He goes back to eating the eggs, dropping the shells into Pakka's waiting mouth. He pauses when he looks at the burn scars across Pakka's skin, where the scales can't even grow back. It's hard to imagine how that must have felt. He reaches out toward the scarred side and Pakka's good eye swivels toward his hand. A small growl rises in his throat when Seto slowly puts his palm over the burned half of his face. It dies, but Pakka's lips remained somewhat pulled back to bare his teeth.

"I'm..." The smell of burnt flesh seems to well in his nose, despite the wounds being old and scarred over. He coughs and shakes his head, trying to blink tears from his eyes. A sense of loss sears through his chest and he curls in on himself, hand still over Pakka's face. The dragon stares at him evenly, then slowly warbles and snuffles at his face.  

"I'm okay," he whispers, scratching the fur along the dragon's chin. He frowns at the scars. "Are you?"

"... Hungry."

Seto laughs slightly and gets up. "Let me see if I have anything for you, alright?"

Pakka warbles happily and tries to follow him inside, but Seto quickly shuts the door behind him. Pakka might be able to fit inside, but he's not really in the mood to wrangle the dragon back outside. He heads for the fridge, pulling open the freezer. There is a slab of meat there. It probably isn't for Pakka, but there's not much else in the fridge. They really need to go shopping soon. Maybe Martin will let him take some money and the tagalong. He makes a mental note to ask in a bit.

Taking the meat out of the fridge, he heads back outside. "It needs to thaw, but-"

Paka snaps it from his hands and floats a distance away, setting it on the ground. Seto frowns. "I could try to heat it up in the oven for y-"

The dragon inhales deeply, neck arching back. His jaws open wide and- A plume of fire erupts out, scorching the ground and the slab of meat.

Martin makes a noise next to him and he jumps, looking over. "He hasn't breathed fire since I first met him. It's good that he's getting better."

"Yeah," Seto mutters uneasily, looking at the dead grass and burnt meat. Pakka happily starts tearing into it.

"That was going to be our dinner, though." 

"Oh. Shit, sorry." Seto shifts his weight slightly. "Do you want me to go shopping? I'll be going out anyway?"

"Are you sure you'll be able to pull the tagalong?" Martin looks down at him. When Seto nods, he shrugs and says, "Alright. I'll come get you when we're about to leave. You should try to get a few more hours of sleep, though, Pakka told me you had a late night."

"Oh, uh." Seto rubs the back of his neck, chuckling sheepishly. "Yeah."

Martin almost says something, when a loud crash from the house interrupts him. He sighs and goes back inside, calling Nitram's name. Seto gulps and quickly heads off the porch, deciding to spend the time until lunch outside. No sense in getting caught up in that.

[...]

Martin rubs his forehead, wincing at the stinging of the needle on his back. He still has a few hours before he has to leave, but he's fidgety and wants to leave.

"Stay still," Aza commands, taking the tattoo needle away for a moment. Martin sighs and puts his elbows back on the table, resisting the urge to bounce his knee. "I just don't know what to do with him anymore."

"Well, leave your brother to sort through his own problems. He seems adept at letting you do the same." There's something in that tone and Martin pulls forward then turns to glare at him. 

"What are you saying?" he asks, and Aza just shakes his head, gesturing for him to turn back around. "No. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, is that he's left you alone in times of need before-"

"And how would you know that?"

Aza raises an eyebrow at him, and magic suddenly spins him back around. Swaying at the dizziness, Martin shakes his head, and flinches at the needle when it meets his ski again. He sighs through gritted teeth.

"Do I really need to keep explaining things, Martin? I told you before. You weren't supposed to have a twin - and look at how it's turned out! Jack shit came from having Nitram around. I swear." He trails off into a mumble that Martin can't make out over the buzzing of the machine. He taps his fingers against the desk, glaring over at the candle still flickering on the corner of the tabletop. He checks the magic link and nods to himself, content that at least he can keep it going without paying too much attention to it. He's getting better at this other-world magic.

A long silence passes, then Martin sighs. "I feel like a fool."

Aza doesn't have to prompt him into speaking. He momentarily thinks about how strange it is, that he can talk to what's practically a stranger, but not his own twin. "It's because Seto's back, isn't it? Nitram's... he hasn't  _been_ sober, but he thought he was. So it's like a normal relapse - the whole nine yards, you know? Disappearing to Baki and Simon, coming home shitfaced- It got really bad the other night. And I don't know how to help him, now. He's gotten so bad. Last time it was this bad I..."

They had just moved. Run away from the east. He feels Aza nod, the man's long hair brushing his bare back for a second. His skin rises in goosebumps; despite having known Aza for months, he still can't get past the otherworldly presence Aza seeps. "Put him in therapy, maybe?"

"He won't go. I've tried before. He has to want to get better on his own, to get anywhere with him."

Aza hums, sitting back and wiping a towel over the tattoo. He mumbles something and Martin feels it healing. Then he goes back to inking in whatever new sigil he's putting on. "And you've tried to talk to him."

"Yeah, of course, I have. He always pushes me away. Doesn't want to talk to me anymore." And Martin  _knows_ why that is. He hasn't been in the most sharing mood, either. But he can't give up this secret, that was part of the deal. 

"Well-"

The door opens. Like that, Aza is gone, the needle clattering to the ground and spilling ink when it breaks. Martin scrambles to grab his shirt, turning and backing away from where Nitram stands in the doorway.

"Who was that?" Nitram asks, staring right where Aza had just been. "What are  _those_?" Now he looks to the sigils and Martin hastily pulls on his shirt, shoving the sleeves down.

"I thought you were going out," Martin says, desperate to change the subject. Nitram glares at him.

"What  _are_ those, Martin." His voice says calm, but his eyes are  _screaming_ rage. Martin buttons up his shirt, cursing not locking the door.

"They're nothing. Just-"

"No.  _No_. I'm sick of this, Martin! You keep-  _Hiding_ shit from me, and I am so  _sick_ of it." Nitram's voice rises and Martin backs up, the candle whispering out when he passes it. Nitram's eyes dart toward it, then back to him. "Who was that here? Someone was right there." He points at where Aza had been. "Who were you talking to?"

"I-" He wants to tell him. He  _wants_ to. But then he feels the itching on his shoulder, right where Aza had been tattooing, and his throat closes up and his he bites his tongue without meaning to. Damn him, he made sure he wouldn't be able to say anything- That wasn't some mediocre strength sigil. That was darker magic. "I can't, Nitram."

Maybe it's the way his voice breaks. Or maybe it's because Nitram sees the truth in his eyes, and the pleading nature of his tone. The rage dwindles from his brother's eyes. Nitram searches him for a moment longer, expression saying  _concern_ and  _What are you doing, Martin?_

"Why?" Nitram asks, quietly.

Martin can't even open his mouth, now, and the sickening locking of the magic around his jaw makes him want to puke. He shakes his head, and Nitram seems to... relent. "Okay," he says, relenting. He takes a step back toward the door. "... Okay."

Something is broken between them. Things won't... Things won't ever be the same, anymore. Nitram is admitting defeat, here, but it doesn't feel like Martin is the victor. 

Nitram leaves him, then, without another word. The door closes behind him quietly.

A few moments pass and Aza reappears, tutting at the broken needle as he picks up the pieces. He rummages in his bag for a second before beginning to pull out another one, cords and all. 

Martin just sits back down, elbows and arms on the desk, and when the needle hits his skin again, he doesn't flinch this time. The two of them are silent for a long time, before Aza says, "You know, you two remind me of a few friends of mine."

Martin grunts. "Wonderful."

"That's supposed to be a compliment." Aza lets the silence stretch out again before he says, "You know why I had to do it."

"Yeah," Martin says, knowing that Aza is only locking in the new sigil, double-inking it to make sure it won't fade too easily. No use making it so that Martin wouldn't be able to speak of the deal, of Aza, of all this, if it would only be watered down later.

Martin struggles for words for a second. Then he closes his eyes and exhales. "Yeah, I know."


	37. this is home

[i'll figure out a way to get us out of here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75g1G4O5fco)

* * *

* * *

 

"Don't get into any fights with anyone," Martin says, handing him the pouch of coins. "And don't buy any liquor."

"Why would I buy that?" Seto asks, opening it slightly then looking up at him, raising an eyebrow. "And why so much? I'm only getting groceries."

"Oh- Shit, no, uh, you need to buy some nice clothes. Whatever you want. There's a shop down that way - It's called, uh, Betsy's? Or Betty's? Something like that. She knows you're coming. It's for the festival."

"I wish I knew more about this festival." Try as he might, he... cannot recall other festivals, despite living in the west all his life. Shaking his head, he ties the pouch to his belt loop. "But yeah, I got it. I'll go after lunch."

"Whenever is fine. Just make sure it's today." Martin checks the watch on his wrist - that looks new - and swears. "Shit, I need to go. Stay safe, Seto, alright? Say hello to Sam for me."

With that, Martin takes off. Seto sighs and glances at the tagalong. It hadn't been too difficult to fly with it, but the landing was... Not so smooth. He knows for a fact that it's got a few more scratches on its surface. 

Shaking his head, Seto hurries out of the parking lot and glances around. Martin had pointed out the restaurant from above, but trying to find it walking around could be difficult. Frowning, he takes off into the air, searching for the restaurant. Air traffic is heavy today; everyone is getting ready for the festival. He sees a group of angels going around and putting up colorful decorations, and he steers well clear of them. 

A whistle to his left sounds out, and it beckons. He glances over and calls out, "Oh, hey! I was just looking for the place."

Sam laughs and flies in behind him, using the wake from his wings to glide. "No stress," she calls over the wind, and he sees her arm gesture down. He follows her finger and sees the sign. She dives before he does, landing on the rooftop. She jabs a thumb on the elevator button and the doors open. He follows her in, shifting on his feet. It's a bit fancier than he expected and he feels underdressed. But a glance at Sam erases his worries quickly. She's in a tank top and shorts.

"So," she says, "Have you picked out what you're wearing?"

"Not really. I was supposed to stop by some store today. Betsy's, or... Becky's, maybe? Betty's?"

"Oh, are you talking about Bianka's? Hell yeah, man, she'll fit you with something  _great_. We go to her shop every festival- Dad's real weird about that, y'know? It's like... I  _gotta_ wear something different each time. Hell, if I had my way, I'd wear fucking pajamas."

She's easy to talk to, he realizes. They chat until the elevator doors open, and then she flashes some card, and they're taken to a section away from the public and prying eyes. As a server leads him through, she elbows him in the shoulder. "Gotta stay away from the cameras, you know? Especially with those horns of yours."

"Oh, uh-"

"Nah, don't worry about it. You don't have jack shit to do with political relations or whatever the fuck. I don't either. So." She yanks out the chair and plops down, one foot going up to rest on the chair next to hers. Seto sits down across from her. "So, today's just- You know, it's just fun. We don't gotta talk about heavy shit, or anything."

"It's not my strong suit anyway," he says, unfolding the menu. His eyes widen on reflex at the prices, and he has to remind himself of the pouch of hundreds and forties at his side. 

"Thank god. I swear, you can't have a full conversation with Marisol's daughters without them bringing up  _something_ about the east, or the camps, or  _anything_ like that." Sam glances around for a server. "You know what you want?"

No, he doesn't. He glances at the menu and picks something at random - it's nothing like the stuff Nitram makes; he wonders how much of that is actually eastern. "Uh, yeah, I do."

"Cool." She waves a server over and orders herself a coffee and a burger. Seto places his order, handing the server his menu. 

They lapse into silence for a moment, then Sam sighs. "Dad's been really weird lately."

"Weirder than normal?" Seto looks up from his water as she stirs her coffee with her middle finger. She snorts at that. "You don't even know him."

"No, but I've seen him around, and you were talking about him earlier." He watches her down the coffee, then reaches for the coffee pot and refill it. 

"Well," she says, and glances around then leans in conspiratorily. "He's not himself. Not sure why. He's... nicer?"

"Isn't that a good thing?"

At this, she shrugs. "It happened like... a couple a weeks ago. He went from being like, an absent asshole, to actually being a good dad. And I mean- That's great, but that's also seventeen years too late."

"Seventeen? I thought you were older."

At this, she hikes up a shoulder, pushing back a lock of black hair. At that moment, she reminds Seto of someone, but he... can't place who. He looks at her, then, taking in purple-pink eyes, sharp features... She looks like her dad, as far as Seto can tell. But she reminds him of someone he used to know, or... Something. His head is starting to hurt. "Well, he was good when I was little. Then something... happened, I'm not sure, and he stopped being there fully. It was weird. But now it's like that never happened."

"Huh," he says, poking a straw into his glass to drink. He's not sure what to say to that. "That is weird."

Sam thinks for a moment, then shakes her head, waving a hand. "Sorry, sorry, I was  _just_ bitching about heavy shit. Anyway-"

It's then that their food arrives. Seto's eyes widen at the plate put in front of him, and he looks over at her burger. "Aw, sweet. Fucken  _food_. Dad's shit at cooking, you know."

"Mine- Martin is too. Nitram usually cooks, but, uh-"

She flips a hand at him and starts eating. Around a mouthful of food, she asks, "What's the deal with their names, by the way? They're just reverses of each other. It's weird."

"They never told me. I think they thought it was clever. I also think they regret it, now." She laughs at this, covering her mouth so she doesn't spit out any crumbs.

"God, could you imagine? At the same time, I'm  _so_ glad their mom didn't name them that. Like... Hell. What was she thinkin' kinda thing, you know?"

She finishes off her burger quickly and waves for a second one as Seto is still eating his own plate of... he thinks it's seafood?

"Geez, kid, you need ta eat- Hey, a burger for him, as well." She points at him with a thumb. "You need meat on your bones. Are they not feeding you or something?"

"Uh- No! No, they're feeding me." At least, Martin is trying anyway. Sam snorts and shakes her head. "Sure, sure."

As they eat, they fall into another awkward silence. Finally, Sam speaks up again, once she's done with her second burger. "So what's the east like?"

"Oh, uh, I haven't been there. Mom brought me over." He pokes at his - It's probably pasta - with his fork. Sam probably sees his hesitance and waves the question away. They pass through the rest of lunch with idle chit chat, until the checks come. Sam plucks his up from the table before he can even grab it. "My treat, remember? C'mon, let's stop by Bianka's. I'll make sure she sets you up with something to go on those horns of yours."

And with that, he's being shuffled out into the street before he can even protest. They don't immediately go to Bianka's, unsurprisingly, because Sam continues to stop at windows and point out things she could probably afford. "I just don't want to lug it around with me," she says, snickering slightly. "Dad won't let me bring up any of my humans, so... You know the deal."

The comment leaves Seto uncomfortable, for some reason, despite having grown up with it being common and...  _all around_ him. He shakes the feeling off, glancing to the right as they walk. Slowing to a stop, he stares into the window. Sam stops walking, taking a few steps back to look in as well. 

"Why would you need jewelry?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at the thing he's looking at. It looks like it should go across someone's chest, like a plate of armor. The golden plate is embedded with amethysts and a few other gems he can't place. "Don't even think that will fucking fit you, man."

"It's not for me." Seto pushes into the store anyway, glancing around to find a store clerk. The price is... reasonably high. He counts out what's in the pouch, weighing if he should cut his grocery list in half or not. Probably not, considering how much Martin gave him. But he probably expects the change back...

"I'll take it," he decides, figuring he'd be able to return it if Pakka doesn't like it. "Do you know if it's dragon-proof?"

"I'm sorry?" The store clerk looks up as she wraps the thing in bubble foil. She pauses and frowns down at it, then shrugs. "You have a month's warranty if anything goes wrong."

"Cool."

Sam looks at him weirdly as they walk out, then shakes her head and points down the street. "There's Bianka's. After that, though, we'll have to split ways. I got an appointment at the doc's."

"Oh, Baki?"

"Yeah, you know him? He's working on a vaccine for deathbell, and dad's sent me out to see if he's making progress at all."

"I think I heard about that from Martin. Tell him I said hey." Seto pushes open the door to Bianka's and glances around. It's a normal clothing store, though all the suits and dresses look pricey. It's got a handful of other shoppers, as well, and he's surprised that it's not busy.

Someone calls Sam's name, and a girl runs up and they hug briefly. "Hey, Sammy! It's so good to see you. Been a while. Oh, and you're Seto, right?" She extends a hand and he shakes it, startled that she's so young. "I'm Bianka. Your father set up your appointment- You're early, actually."

"Oh, sorry, uh-"

"No problem. Come on, I already have a few ideas for what you should wear." Bianka leads him past the aisles and into a back room, which holds  _more_ expensive clothes, plus a few tailoring machines he doesn't have a name for. 

Sam leans at the wall, studying a dress. "It's looking beautiful, Bianka, thanks for making it for me. Say, you think you could dazzle up those horns of his? I think they need to be shown off."

Bianka's eyes just  _light up_. "Oh! Of course- General Martin wouldn't let me do anything for them, and I haven't seen his brother's horns either, so I would love to." She procures a measuring tape from nowhere, taking measurements along his horns. He flinches when she brushes the tape against the base of his horn, and ducks away.

"Sorry, they- You gotta be careful with them." He rubs the feeling away, trying to get rid of the gooseflesh on his arms. Bianka nods and hums. "Is jewelry alright? What I had planned had some metal on it, but if that hurts-"

"Toward the end, not the base. I'd prefer to leave that blank. Or- Leather, maybe, I know people over in the east use leather to protect them sometimes." That, he learned from Martin a handful of years back. Bianka nudges him up onto a raised pedestal and takes a few more measurements of his limbs and body. He feels somewhat awkward, standing there. Sam, thankfully, is more interested in looking over details of her dress. He assumes it's hers, anyway. 

"So, what do you want?" Bianka asks. "A dress? Robes? Suit? Whatever you think fits- You can get as colorful as you want, too. General Martin said you haven't been to a festival yet, so-"

"They're a fucking rage," Sam chimes in. "They hold contests of the best-dressed. You should  _see_ some of the feather things people will wear."

"Uh... I don't know what I want?" He puts it at a question. Bianka's eyes  _sparkle_ and he fears for himself, for a second.

"Perfect. I know just the thing, then. A tux is off the table." Bianka hops away to a desk and makes a few notes, then waves a hand at a wall. Seto notices magic strings yanking through the air and he looks over to find cloth scraps folding together. A needle and string go about to start stitching things together. 

"You can drop your arms, man," Sam whispers, and he does so with a relieved sigh. She sits down on the pedestal and pats the spot next to her. "It takes a bit. Men's clothes are easier than dresses though."

She says this quietly. With a glance at Bianka, he understands why. She's zoned out, fingers plucking magic strings and painting patterns in the cloth without any dyes or anything. Seto sits down next to her, quietly watching the outfit come together.

At first, it's just a white dress shirt, but as she adds layers, it becomes... Something he doesn't have much of a name for. The sides are layered, and he watches as honest-to-god rose petals and vines races across the layers. Awed at the black splotch of dye racing across one side of it, he glances at Sam and whispers, "Is this how she does every piece?"

"Lord no. Just the generals and their kids get something special like this. I guess it's why dad always wants something new for me. Bianka's designs are the best around - one of a kind, you could say. She never makes the same pattern twice." She studies her nails and looks back up, raising an eyebrow.

Concerned at her expression, he looks back over. The shirt has a vest hovering next to it, black and gold and reds splashing in neat patterns. He worries about being able to fly in it without bursting the seams. It looks somewhat small. 

Bianka shuffles away from the desk suddenly, going to a cabinet drawer. She pulls a few boxes from separate drawers, setting them down on the desk. He can't really see around her, but sees a flash of gold and figures it's probably for his horns. 

They sit there for what feels like an hour as the attire forms together. Finally, Bianka pushes away from the desk and sighs out. "Whew, alright. Come here, kid, let's get this on you."

Seto gingerly takes the clothes from her and steps into the dressing room, hanging them up on the hooks. He glances over them, surprised. They look amazing, he won't lie. The rose patterns turn sharp the further down the shirt they get, and when he feels over the layers, they crinkle like foil at the bottom. Maybe it's actually sharp, or... Shrugging, he pulls it on, humming when it fits just perfectly. Damn, Bianka really is good.

She didn't give him the horn accessories, and he's dreading having to put them on. But stepping out of the dressing room, Bianka plucks at the fabric, circling around him and making sure everything is in order. "Perfect," she says and steps back. "Now, hold still."

Something cold touches his horns and he flinches but tries to hold still as well as he can. His skin  _crawls_ as he feels deft fingers latch something around the base of his horn. He feels- vulnerable, almost, and god damn he wants to flee.

But she's quick, and steps away, hands still raised slightly as if to adjust. Humming, he hears her go to grab the second piece. He doesn't let her. He shakes his head and can't help but shudder at the metal clinking against the old bone. "Nope," he says, quickly, eyes scrunching shut. "Nope, no, can't have those on."

Bianka mumbles a curse and quickly unclips the accessory- Fuck, she only put one on, thank god. He lets out a relieved sigh when it finally comes away. "Sorry, just-"

"No, no, it's alright." She gently lays it aside and he sees it then. The metal is black and gold, matching the shirt, with rubies spattered about. The base is leather, as he'd asked, but that had barely helped. "Anyway, kiddo, it looks fantastic. Do you like it?"

He glances over at the mirror again and hesitates. Something is there - he can tell. Something... Not right. He can't help but frown. Something doesn't  _look_ right. His tail flicks anxiously and he notices his ears. Pulling hair away from them, he sighs. They never did grow out like they were supposed to.

"Oh, what about something for that tail?" Bianka is already going back to the desk, but the thought of hands on his tail makes him step off the pedestal and back away.

"No thanks," he says quickly. She seems disappointed. "But... you like it, right?"

"Of course! It looks great. Do I bring it home, or-"

"Oh, heavens no. Leave it here, then when you're getting ready for the festival, stop on by. Oh, and here." She takes out a suit in a plastic holding bag. "This is for that meeting the Generals go to. Go on and bring it home. Keep it in the bag until you get dressed."

He goes and changes quickly, not looking at the mirrors. He's not sure  _why_ he can't meet his own eyes in the mirror, but decides it's just best to ignore it.

With the new suit over his arm, he leaves the shop after paying. Sam punches his shoulder and bids him goodbye, then lifts off into the air. Seto stands there for a second, looking up at the sky-

_(Looking up at the sky full of islands, full of metal wings and terrifying creatures.)_

[...]

Grocery shopping done, he takes the tagalong home. Nitram is there to help him land, this time. He looks somewhat worried and keeps glancing at the clock. That's when Seto realizes it's almost six at night. He takes the gift for Pakka and slips out of the house.

Pakka is bathing in a pond and Seto heaves a sigh, plopping down at the water's edge. "Hey, I got you something."

Interested immediately, Pakka swims up, crawling halfway out of the water to curl around him. "Something-something? Hungry?"

"No, it's not food." Seto unwraps the package and Pakka's nose is instantly on the metal, sniffing across it.

"Lovey," he barks, picking it up with a careful paw. After studying it with both eyes, and giving it a lick for good measure, he stuffs it in his mouth. Seto shouts and wrangles open his jaws, grimacing at dragon slobber. "No, no eating," he says, holding it away from Pakka. The dragon chuffs and bobs his head. "Then what?"

"It's to wear. It's pretty, you know?" Seto starts clipping it around Pakka's neck, and lets it slide down to rest on the dragon's chest, hanging above his shoulders like a necklace. Pakka studies it, then snorts.

"Funny-small-thing," he says, snuffling at Seto's hair. "But nice. Lovey-gift."

"Thanks, Pakka." He scratches the dragons chin and Pakka churs, then slips back into the water.

Sitting back down, Seto glances at his hands, pressing his thumb against the sharpened nails. He thinks to his mom's fingers, and the twins'. Their claws slide in and out, like cat claws. But his are growing like a westerner's - sharp and hard, and difficult to file down. He scrapes the nails over his horns and shivers at the sensation. "Hey, I'm gonna go flying," he calls to Pakka, earning a warble in return.

With that, he leaps from the ground. The wind lifts him higher; he drops around the edge of the island and freefalls toward the ocean. The wind whips around him, tugging harshly at his hair and clothes. Flipping the tail-fan out, he levels out, opening his eyes to find he's closer to the ocean than he thought he was. To the west, a Ground island sits, dark and floating on the waves. The patch of lighter blue stands out amongst the darker ocean. Looking at that island, he feels a pang of...

Loss? 

Frowning at the island, he circles it, seeing a familiar-but-not river and bay. A small peninsula. Two cities, one larger than the other. He flies almost on autopilot, and only realizes he's too close when his left wing clips a tree branch.

Deciding he's come this far, he lands heavily on the dirt road, glancing around. This place is so... familiar. He glances down, frowning at the tire tracks bouncing along the road. It almost reminds him of the tagalong's tires, but he shakes off the ridiculous notion. 

Traveling down the road, he can't get rid of the growing sense of foreboding. A house comes into view, around the bend. It looks like it's been abandoned. The lawn grows tall and wild, like a miniature jungle. There aren't any lights on inside, and all the windows look dusty. He cautiously goes up the porch steps and pauses. Next to the door is a little slab of concrete, with 'WELCOME' written in child-like handwriting. Two sets of handprints sit below it; a baby's, then a child's. A larger set is above the welcome word. He feels tears pooling in his eyes and he quickly shakes his head, sucking in a shaking breath through his teeth. Why does that affect him so much?

The door opens easily. The creak is... expected, yet it still startles him. He cautiously goes further into the house, frowning at the mess in the kitchen and wrinkling his nose at the smell of rotten food. He quickly heads to the living room, stopping at the sight of the furniture pushed aside and two mattresses taking up most of the space. Metal scraps lay scattered, as well as a few tools. A hammer lays on the mattress. He bends down and picks it up, studying the dents in the metal and handle. Dropping it, he continues on. A bedroom sits to his right. A bathroom to his left. He ignores both and sighs, turning around.

His feet take him downstairs. Furniture clutters most of it, but there's an empty space at the end. A bed on a box frame. Mostly-empty shelves. He stares at the few knickknacks left, tears welling in his eyes again. He quickly shakes his head and races upstairs. Through the living room, down the hall-

And upstairs.

The room is worse than the rest of the house. Leaves lay on the ground and he looks up to the skylight, frowning at it. It's similar to the ones in their house up Above. He quietly goes to the closet, finding it locked. But with some yanks and rattling, he pulls it open.

And stumbles back at the sight of a pair of wings, hung up on the wall. His breath leaves him and he falls to the ground, finally sobbing. Something  _aches_ in his chest, in his head, but he doesn't understand why. Those silver wings - hell, he thinks they're almost his size - loom above him. They don't shine; they aren't taken care of. 

Once his sobbing subsides, he staggers to his feet and goes to the wings. The metal is cold against his fingers. He reaches up, and pulls the primary from its hook. Gently folding it down, and wincing at the creaking of the joints.

But soon enough, he has them off the wall, and folded in his arms. He's right, about the sizing. They match his.

Taking them downstairs, he wraps them in an extra blanket from the bedroom - the one that seems... less familiar, and holds emotions he can't put a finger on - and then hurries out of the house.

When he gets home, he unwraps the wings, and hangs them on the hooks in his bedroom. Martin and Nitram are downstairs, talking quietly. He doesn't go down for dinner. He doesn't answer when someone knocks on his door.

He just sits on his bed, and stares at the unfamiliar pair of wings, and he cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, that was his old home he visited there. and yes, those are his mom's wings. haha whoops  
> annnyway, i love sam and i would kill for her.


	38. the cause and effects

To his credit, Nitram doesn't drink during the meeting. Or before, for that matter. He shows up sober if looking a little hungover. Seto doesn't look like he wants to be here, either.

Honestly, Martin would send them home if he could. But they have to start making better impressions on the other Generals. He  _knows_ Sam probably put a good word in for Seto, though the thought of Brian coming close to him makes Martin's wings rattle. He shakes off the thought, sighing as one of the Military Generals prattles on and on about the dissatisfaction of everyone because of the recent retreat. He pauses to glance pointedly over at Martin, and he waves him on. He has to pretend to listen to him, as much as he just wants to nap.

Though, he's pretty sure many of the angels in the meeting are already well on their way to snoozing off. Finally, fed up with it, Martin clears his throat and leans forward. "Business is booming, we might be able to set up a trading system, this festival will be the biggest in years... And lastly, and most importantly, people aren't meaninglessly dying. Have you notice any attacks from the east?"

At this, the other general deflates, and quickly takes his seat at the further end of the table. It doesn't take much to dissuade any of them from starting shit. He glances around the table. "Do any of the other Military Generals have anything else to say?"

At their silence, he motions at Brian. The angel stands to start speaking. Martin zones out again, completely disinterested in the details of the Ground. Everything seems to be going fine. He would have heard about any problems, at this point. With Brian's speech come and gone, Masikae stands. "Since my brother is not here, I will be standing in for him. The camps are not in good condition at the moment. Plagues are running wild. No signs of deathbell, it just seems to be normal human illnesses." At this, the generals shuffle uneasily. With humans not being made, some parts of the economy could collapse. Farming, factories-

"I am working with our doctors to figure out-"

"Why don't you vaccinate them?"

All eyes swivel to Seto and Martin has to bite back a sigh. Of course, the kid will do the  _one_ thing he told him not to. At their glares, he shrinks back, and stutters out, "I-I mean, vaccines are a thing on the Ground. Just... go and get them?"

Silence. Martin rubs his temples, where a roaring headache is pounding between them. Finally, Masikae slowly says, "We will think about that. Thank you, Seto."

It's a clear dismissal. Martin doesn't say anything. She continues on to the sightings of spirits. More than normal. Her team is mostly taking care of them; the Ilicho problem seems to have been dealt with, once they knew what it was. She starts to say something about a different spirit causing trouble, when the door slams open. Again, silence.

Martin stands at the sight of Junys. "So you've decided to join us."

Junys sways slightly- Hell, he's drunk. Martin scowls and waves at the empty seat. Junys stares him back down, then stumbles over to the opposite end of the table, and slams his hands down. In his left, is a crumpled piece of paper. "Y'know," he slurs, "I'm sick of you. Of what yer doin', of- Of yer face, of everything. I- I  _challenge_ you,  _General Martin."_ His title is spat like bile.

Junys tosses the balled-up paper at him. Martin snatches it from the air, unfolding it to look over the sloppily written duel issued on the paper. He reads over the terms. All for all. Just as he had done with Nathaniel. Only this time, Junys scrawled in that everything goes during the fight. Everything. Hm.

He wordlessly hands Nitram the paper and his brother reads over it. "Sit down, General Junys."

"No. I want an answer,  _now_."

Martin considers it. He sighs, and finally says, "Fine. Terms are acceptable. Two weeks from now."

"No. Two days after the festival." Junys' fists dig scratches into the table. Martin hears Nitram finish signing, and he takes the crumbled piece of paper, flourishing his own signature along the bottom. He crumples it back up and tosses it, hitting Junys in the forehead.

"You have a deal, General."

[...]

Martin wipes the oil on his hands off onto a towel, saying, "So you knew it would happen. That's why you told Nitram to just sign the papers, wasn't it?"

Aza picks at the bowl of ramen Martin had brought in. He hadn't touched it yet, but Aza has no qualms about eating from it. "Mm. Yeah. Man, this is good. I haven't gotten around to studying much of the cuisine from your world."

The angel suppresses a sigh and turns back to the wingset he has laid out. Why the kid wants to wear _these_ old things to the festival, he'd never know. He can... maybe understand, though. "And nothing will happen, in three days? I'll go, fight Junys, win, and own his property too."

At this, Aza shrugs, mumbling something along the lines of, "How would I know?"

Martin sighs, this time. He reaches for the oil can when a feather joint won't properly unfold. "I thought you knew these things. What are you even doing here right now?"

"Eh. My, um, mother? Friend? Well, she's watching my girls tonight. Was  _supposed_ to be going on a date but, you know, apparently, the rest of the universe is more important than your husband." Aza crunches down on another bite from the ramen, pulling a face at the bilo cube he'd bitten into. He jerks his hand in the air quickly and procures a napkin from thin air, spitting the bite into it then vanishing the trash. "So how is your training going?"

Martin rubs his eyes and spins around in his chair, one hand sweeping up over his chest to pull at the magic, feel for which sigil he wants. Finding it, he snags at the magic and the sigil glows to life above his palm, spinning slowly. The light casts sharp yellows around and Aza nods, then gestures. "Go on."

With his other hand, he pulls a different sigil from his arm, and twists them together. The sigil he holds now is larger, more detailed, and he feels the magic crackling just under the surface. In his veins, under his skin. This inside-magic makes him want to scratch it out, makes him want to flail until it's gone, but he holds those instincts back. He flips his hand over and the sigil follows, and sparks shower down onto the ground, landing harmlessly on the floorboards. Aza nods and dismisses the magic with a wave, accidentally putting out his candles as well.

Grumbling to himself, Martin goes to pinch the wicks, relighting them. They sit in silence for a while as he repairs the wings, winding a spring through the arm. Finally, when it seems he's done, he passes his magic through the wings, trying to find any inconsistencies inside or out. There are a few, which he immediately goes to repair.

Aza says, "I  _am_ sorry about how Nitram is... Well."

"I'm sure you are." The inner workings are frayed, especially the wires. He reaches for his screwdriver to take off one of the panels on the forearm. "And he's... getting better, I think."

"I can help."

"No." That is immediately shot down. Martin doesn't want Aza  _meddling_ with his life anymore. He knows it can't be helped - not with what Aza's been slowly explaining to him, not with  _that much_ at stake - but there are limits to what he wants Aza to mess with.

Not as if it could make much difference. Aza will meddle if he wants to, Martin's feelings be damned. "I just... Stay out of their heads."

"Can't be helped." He hears the fork clinking against the ceramic bowl. Then Aza adds in, "Also- After this whole duel is over, someone wants to speak with you."

At that, Martin goes still. An instinctual fear creeps up his spine, making him break out in a cold sweat. He sets the screwdriver down, not trusting his hands not to shake. "Oh?" It comes out as a whisper.

Aza's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Yeah. I... tried to keep them back. You know that, right, Martin?"

He didn't. He didn't exactly trust Aza, especially not with how aloof the other man constantly seems. Not with the sigils tattooed permanently on his skin. He takes a wavering breath. Aza takes his silence as an answer. "They won't do anything," he continues, "I don't think so, at least. But-"

A quiet knock on the door interrupts him. Aza sighs and nods at Martin, and then vanishes, the spoon clacking to the desk. Martin answers the door, opening it a crack and then fully pushing it open at the sight of Seto. "Hey, kid, what's up?"

Seto leans to look over at the wings. "How are those going?"

"They're not as bad as I thought. Wanna come look?" Martin heads back to where the one wing is stretched out on the desk. The other is hanging up, finished. "I got that one done, this one still needs a bit of work, though."

He knows whose these are. He knows that Seto  _doesn't_ , though, so the fact that he even got ahold of them in the first place is concerning. Still, while he might not trust Aza, he  _does_ trust the magic behind everything. Seto heads to the finished one, looking at his reflection in the polished silver. They're most obviously eastern, though he doubts the kid could really tell the difference. It's all in the shape of the feathers, especially their bases and how they're attached to the wing. A metal, flexible plate acting like an actual flesh-part of a body, with quills to connect them-

He shakes his head. He'd long since figured out a mix of both types of wings, which is what he'd used for his and his brother's, as well as Seto's, wingsets.

"They seem familiar for some reason," Seto mumbles, tracing a finger down the first primary. The running edge needed some sharpening, and he quickly pulls his finger away to find a line of blue over the pad of his finger. Martin rolls his eyes at his carelessness and reaches into a drawer and tosses a band-aid at him. "I found them on the ground," Seto says as he wraps the small cut. "Why... Why would they be there?"

"A better question is why you were in somebody's house. Angels live on the Ground, sometimes." Not really, but... Well, it was probably best to dissuade Seto from looking into it any further. 

"It was abandoned," Seto replies, looking up from his finger to the reflection again. "I just... I don't know. It seemed familiar. Is that weird?"

Not at all. "Kinda. Maybe you shouldn't explore down there anymore. Humans aren't always happy to see us." Which is the understatement of the year. 

Seto nods but doesn't say anything. Martin looks up from the wires he's replacing and sighs. "Alright, kid, go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Do we have to go to the festival?"

"Yeah. And besides, it'll be fun." Hopefully. Martin's only been to a couple, but for this one, he needs to go. He spins in his chair and waves Seto out the door. "These'll be done by the morning. For now, go to sleep. You don't want to be tired, trust me."

Sighing, Seto trudges on his way, giving a good night on his way out. Martin waves then drops his hand back to the desk once he's out of sight. He stares at the empty, dark doorway for a second, then turns back to the wing he's working on. 

Yeah, big day tomorrow. But first, these need to get done.


	39. yeah, i was out of touch

[but it wasn't because i didn't know enough.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GByM4P5IM2M)

i just knew too much

* * *

* * *

 

It's not all that fun, at first. Not really. Once Martin heads off to talk with important people, Nitram pats him on the shoulder and says, "Good luck," before going on his own way. 

So that leaves Seto standing around at the commons, looking around at all the booths and buffets and lights and colors. Over to his right, is someone with fire magic making a dragon race around in the air. His skin crawls for some reason and he decides to keep his distance. 

Martin at least left him with a pouch of coins. That's good. At least he can get something to eat. Not that he's really hungry, though. He settles for walking around and just... watching. Most of the older angels wear mismatched wings. Different feathers from different pairs. From what Martin said, each feather is from an angel that they'd defeated during a challenge. It's.... morbid, Seto thinks. He looks around and, after a minute of searching, spots Martin. Those shiny black and gold wings don't look  _right_ on him, but he keeps his head high and the wings slightly mantled. It's... Impressive, and intimidating. To know that Martin was able to take down the worst of them all.

Nitram isn't wearing any one set, but a few primaries on his wings are different colors. Seto- He can't remember any duels that Nitram participated in, but there's the evidence right there. Seto glances at his own wings - the beautiful, green tint of the silver - and feels that familiar pang of sadness. He'd refused to wear the wingset Martin made for him. Not for such a special occasion.

As he looks around, he notices more and more mismatched wings. Mothers, fathers, hell even some fledglings around his age have different feathers on their sets. Seto shrinks back when a man passes by with  _dozens_ upon  _dozens_ of different feathers. 

There's a shout from behind him and he yelps, turning around as he jumps. A masked face laughs back at him, the carved wood grinning at him with many colors. 

"Dude, I  _so_ got you." Ethan pulls the mask from his head, his grin matching the wooden one. Seto lets out a relieved chuckle, trying to calm his racing heart. He glances around, just now noticing how many angels are wearing masks. 

"What, you want one?"

Seto looks back at Ethan and shrugs. "Why not? Where's the stand?"

Ethan grabs him by the wrist and they weave through the crowd, going down an alley before coming out to a street. On either side are more stands. And instead of food, it's mostly trinkets, wings, masks, all sorts of clothes, and too many things to even counts. Seto has to pause to look around, only being brought back to awareness when Ethan starts tugging him down the street. "There's this really cool stand this way. It's where I got mine - Hey, tell Martin I said thanks for the little bit of extra cash, by the way."

It's all Seto can do to keep up with both Ethan's running feet and mouth. Finally, they reach the stand, and they come skidding to a halt. Seto looks over the wears, eyes roaming over the different faces. He reaches up for one, tracing the rounded edge of the green and yellow mask.

"'At's a pretty one. Ay?"

He looks at the woman sitting behind the stall's register. A cruel-looking mask covers her face, all bloody reds, and deep sickly purples. She flips reddish-brown hair over her shoulder and stands, going to lean on the wooden counter. She's about as tall as Seto is, he realizes - around seven, almost eight feet. Strange, because she sounds like an adult. But with the mask, Seto can't really tell.

"Gonna buy it?" Her accent is strange - he's  _never_ heard it before, and something just... doesn't sit right.

Ethan shifts behind him, nudging him with his elbow. "Dude. What's up?" he whispers.

"Uh- Nothing, yeah, no I'll buy it." He reaches for the pouch, starting to pull the discs from it.

She comes around the stall suddenly, pulling the mask down from the hook. She steps closer, raising the mask. And then she's clipping it around the back of his head, and he sees her eyes. A bright, acidic purple. "No need for payment. Havin' the High General's ankle biter 'ere is payment enough."

Seto steps back quickly, skin crawling at the tone of her words. "Uh- Thank you. Yeah, thanks."

Before much else could be said, Ethan grabs him by the elbow, spouting out another thanks to the woman before dragging Seto away.

"That was weird," Ethan mutters and Seto agrees, glancing back once to find the woman still standing there, her mask and shawl covering almost everything. But he still sees the metal foot, shaped like bird talons. 

And then Ethan's pulling him around the corner and they're disappearing into the darker alley.

"So where are the other kids?" Seto asks, trying to put the strange woman out of his mind. 

"Who knows? We're all here, but they're doing their own thing. For now, I'm not gonna bother with worrying about them." Ethan turns his head slightly and Seto thinks he grins behind his mask. They slow to a stop when they come out of the alley and they both glance down opposite directions. 

"So what is there to do?" Seto asks, lifting his mask slightly so his words aren't that muffled. Over the music and crowd, it's hard to hear much of anything. 

"There are a few rides," Ethan says, pointing down his way. Seto leans forward slightly to see where he's pointing. After talking with each other for a few minutes, they decide on the rides, then food. 

And, yeah, the rides are fun. He has fun. They end up riding on one until they're both turning green. Ethan laughs at him when he struggles to keep his food down. So Seto swipes his feet out from under him in retaliation. It winds up in a playfight, and the people around them give them a wide berth.

Winding up on a rooftop, with Ethan sitting on his chest, Seto lets his head fall back to the roof and his eyes drift past Ethan, and up to the stars. "So," he starts, "Are you gonna get off me?"

"Hm. Yeah, I guess." Ethan rolls off, flopping onto his back next to him. Their wings clank together - something that just sends shivers right up and down Seto's spine - and they look up at the sky together.

It's nice. Seto's- He's happy, here, sprawled on top of some restaurant with his best - only - friend. He's alright. It's almost an unfamiliar feeling, but he can't place why. It seems as if he's only been sad, lately.

But tonight is nice.

He tilts his head to find Ethan's mask already turned toward his. They stare at each other for a moment, only able to see each other's eyes. Eventually, Seto breaks the gaze, glad the mask can hide his expression. "You know," he says, raising a hand to point at a group of stars. "That's Orion."

"What's an Orion?"

And Seto has to pause and think. But eventually, he shakes his head, eyes traveling over the stars he'd... once thought were familiar. "I don't know."

"You're pretty weird sometimes, Seto." Ethan laughs under his breath and crosses his arms under his head. He points at another cluster. "And that?"

"Canis Major." He answers without thinking, and then has to blink, the words unfamiliar to his tongue. Some other language, something strange. He shakes his head. "Ignore that. It looks sort of like a dog."

Ethan tilts his head slightly. "Really? Weirdest fucking dog I've ever seen. Where're its other two legs? And the horns?"

"... Yeah, I don't know." Starting to get somewhat upset, Seto quickly rolls over, one wing winding up laying across Ethan's stomach. He stretches slightly, tail curling, and then gets up. A headache is starting to settle in. "Let's go do something."

Ethan shrugs and gets up as well, taking his mask off to breathe for a moment. Seto pulls his off as well, and pauses at the writing he sees inside. Numbers.

_+61 (03) 0776 5634_

Ethan peers over and shrugs. "Guess it's made in a factory. Anyway, I'm actually getting kind of hungry. I've got some, uh, reserves at home, I'll take a warp back. Meet me back in the commons in like an hour."

"Yeah, sure," he says, but doesn't really hear what Ethan says. There's a rush of wind as Ethan takes off. Seto keeps staring at the numbers, frowning. They're so familiar. Why does he recognize them? It's not like they  _mean_ anything.

Right?

Shaking his head, he slowly lifts the mask back on, quickly taking flight. He makes his way to the common area and finds Martin, landing nearby.

Thankfully, Martin notices him, and waves him over. Seto weaves through a small crowd and sits down at the table next to him. 

"I see you found a mask. I was hoping you would- You know, I still have mine from the first festival I went to-"

Before Martin can even finish, there's a loud commotion. Martin stands, gaze turning cold. Seto follows everyone's glances to a fight breaking out among a few people. 

"Hey!" Martin calls, once blood is drawn. "You settle down, now."

The angels notice him quickly, and disperse before he can do or say anything else. They slink off, grumbling. Shaking his head, Martin sits back down, sighing. He reaches over to a champagne glass. "Have you seen Nitram at all?"

"Not since we got here." Seto glances over the sprawl of foods on the table before them, feeling a little awkward with only him and Martin at the large table. "Have you been here the entire time?"

"Sadly." Another sigh. "Can't really enjoy the festival, not now anyway."

Seto hums and starts picking the food he can reach, using metal tongs to fill the china plate in front of his seat. "All your General friends go away?"

"Mm. Thank god, yeah." Martin leans his head on one hand, glancing over at him. "You having fun, at least?"

He nods and tries to eat, almost forgetting the mask is on. "Yeah. Ethan and I went wandering. You know there are rides over that way?"

Martin snorts slightly, reaching up to pick at his own food. "Aren't you a little old for that?"

"It was fun. Scared all the little kids away, but you know. Fun. Hey, do dogs have six legs? And horns?" The image in his mind doesn't seem to match up with Ethan's description.

"And sometimes five eyes, yeah. Look, if this is you asking for a dog, we already have a  _dragon_ -"

"No, no, it's not that." The food is good. Maybe not as good as Nitram's cooking - he always makes sure to add enough spices - but it's more than halfway decent. Through a bite of food, he mumbles, "Huh, you know, there was this lady at the mask stand that had a really weird accent. Dunno where it's from -  _I've_ never heard anything like it before."

Martin glances at the mask, hanging on the edge of Seto's seat. He reaches for it, inspecting it for a moment before turning it over. And his face falls slack when he finds the numbers. Suddenly serious, he pushes his chair out slightly to fully turn toward Seto. "Where'd you find this?"

"Uh, the mask stall? With the lady I was just talking about?" Seto quickly swallows the bite, nearly choking. Martin frowns at the numbers as if they've offended him. "I can show you, if you want."

"Yeah, if you don't mind." Martin stands quickly, still gripping the mask. Seto frowns at the cracks in the wood and takes it from his hand. "Are you, like, alright?"

Martin frowns at him, then nods slowly. "So, this stand?"

"Yeah, this way." With Martin in tow, it's much easier to get through the crowd. They part for them, giving small bows or nods. Seto tries his best to keep his wings from rattling uncomfortably.

When they reach the stall, though, the woman is gone. The masks are still all hung up, but there's nobody behind the counter. "Huh. I mean, she was here when we left. Maybe she went to get food?"

Martin starts pulling masks down, flipping them over to look at the insides. From what Seto can see, there aren't any numbers. He glances back down at his own, gooseflesh rising on his neck and arms. Something isn't sitting right with him. He  _knows_ these numbers.  _+61 (03) 0776 5634._ Where the hell has he seen them before-

_"Jordan? This isn't funny! I'm home, I'm-"_

He blinks away sudden tears and shakes his head rapidly, the name at the back of his throat. Who the hell is Jordan? He glances up to find Martin in the stall, rummaging around. Another look around finds that a handful of eyes are on them. "Um, Martin? Can we- Can we go?"

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice or the look on his face, but when Martin glances up he quickly agrees. "Yeah. Night's almost over, anyway. Come on, kid, we'll take the warp. Let me find Nitram-"

"I'll just... I'll go on ahead of you. See you at home."

"Wait, Seto-"

But he's already leaping into the air, clutching the mask like a lifeline. A few wingbeats and he's gone.

[...]

Where is it? It's somewhere. Here. The desk? Some weird old bag stuffed under his bed? Yeah, it's in there. 

He frantically unzips the bag's pockets, pulling out strange rectangular objects. Glass and plastic, and weird rubbery ropes that are tangled all up with each other. Pitching most of the shit aside, he keeps searching. "Come on," he whispers, "Come on. It's here. I know it's here."

But he doesn't even know what he's looking for. He's- looking for something. A box. Skinny, with one black glass side, and plastic on the other. Or metal, maybe, he can't remember.

Jordan. He keeps repeating that name in his mind, knowing for some strange reason that the moment he stops, that's the moment he'll forget. Forget what he's doing, forget why he's here-

And there. A crumpled piece of paper. Not what he's looking for. But then he reads over it, and- The number, and then on the back,  _I'm sorry._

Panic welling in his throat for some odd reason, he tosses it onto his bed and keeps searching. And then he finds the box. His finger instinctually hits the top button, trying to turn it on, even though he's not sure what he's doing. He waits for a moment, holding his breath. It doesn't turn on.

Crying out in frustration and fear, he tosses that onto his bed and hurries to his closet. Not that box- Phone, it's called a phone. Not that one, but a different one. It flips open. It looks old, but it  _works_.

He tears his room apart. It's not there. It's not  _there_.

Without thinking, Seto races out of his room and takes the stairs by two, then slams open Martin's door. He glances around wildly for a moment before racing to the desk, opening drawings, scattering documents and papers and binders. "Where is it. Where. God, I- Jordan. I need to remember, it's for Jordan."

But _who_ is Jordan?

Uncontrolled anxiety makes him jittery. His hands shake as he tears apart Martin's dresser, tossing clothes and knickknacks away without a care. He hears something shatter and he winces but keeps going. When he doesn't find what he's looking for in Martin's room, he races outside and flies to the smithing island. He doesn't bother with the front or the main workship; instead, he goes right to the back rooms. He glances around for a moment, frowning at the journals laid scattered about. Strange sigils and characters are drawn on them, and many candles are strewn across the desks and floor. He goes for Martin's desk, ripping open the top drawer-

And there it is.

Letting out a breath of relief that he was unaware he'd held, he snatches up the phone. Thankfully, it lights up when he flips it open. Almost without thinking, he jabs in the number.  _+61 (03) 0776 5634_  

It starts dialing.

With bated breath, he puts it to his ear. The ringing stops as someone answers.

There's silence for a long, long moment. He whispers, "Hello?"

A pause. He takes a breath.

And then, "Oh, Seto. Ah've been waitin' for your call."


End file.
